Paper Moons and Silly String
by Demolition.Lover.14
Summary: Before John Watson, before Jim Moriarty, before the game was ever on, Sherlock Holmes faced the biggest challenge he ever would: becoming a father. Prequel to The Family Business.
1. Chapter 1

_**1.**_

_You and me together we'll be, forever you'll see, we two can be good company  
>- Good Company, Oliver and Company<em>

There weren't many times that Sherlock Holmes felt nervous. If one were to ask him how he felt at that particular moment, he would've made a sarcastic remark, scoffed at their sentiment even; alone, however, Sherlock could admit to himself that he felt something akin to uneasy.

The gravel crunched beneath Sherlock's shoes when he walked up the drive towards the front door, the building in front him pleasant enough. There were potted plants lined up on the windowsill and homemade sun catchers were pressed against the window, held in place by blue tack. A few stray bikes were piled up by the front door. As he approached the front porch and rang the doorbell, Sherlock saw coats of several sizes and styles hanging up. The home, he supposed, was nice.

"Mr Holmes?" the woman who answered the door - _single middle aged woman with two cats, had a cheese and ham roll for lunch, prefers to do paperwork by hand rather than on computer_ – asked. Sherlock nodded. "Hi, my name's Dawn, we spoke on the phone."

"Yes, I remember."

Dawn smiled back warmly, kindly. "Come in – oh, watch your step, the porch is a bit of a mess," Dawn said apologetically, nudging a stray wellie boot to the side with the toe of her pump. "No matter how many times we tell them to clear up after themselves, the kids never listen to us."

Sherlock forced himself to smile back, shutting the front door behind himself as he followed Dawn.

The corridors were sky blue, but there were scribbles on them from where some of the kids had run through them with their markers, and several scrapes indicated that the walls were in need of a good repaint. Sherlock glanced at the drawings and photographs pinned up with disinterest.

"Would you like a drink, Mr Holmes?"

"No, thank you."

They passed the living room, Dawn pausing to check on the children inside. A few of the older boys were playing a game on the TV, several young boys gathered around them and shouting encouraging words, while the girls were gathered around the table, drawing or painting each other's nails. The sight made Dawn smile.

"It's a lovely environment here," she said to Sherlock. "Really, it is. I honestly don't know why people have a negative view of the care system." Dawn continued to walk down the corridor. "You sounded quite surprised on the phone, if you don't mind me saying."

"I haven't heard of or from Catherine Fisher for several years," Sherlock admitted. "I wasn't expecting that phone call."

Dawn's smile grew sympathetic. "You'd be surprised how many times I've heard that. Is this your first time meeting her?"

Sherlock nodded. He didn't suppose that the brief few minutes he'd spent in the hospital room counted as meeting his daughter. He hadn't even held her, just glanced at her briefly, scrunched his nose up and left as soon as Catherine permitted it. Sherlock was still amazed that she'd managed to grab him and haul him into the room.

"She's a great kid," Dawn assured him. "A little quiet, which is kind of a relief when you think about that lot in the living room." Sherlock smiled politely. "She might be shy or standoffish, but don't take it personally – she's been passed from pillar to post in the last few weeks, the poor girl." Dawn and Sherlock upstairs, and she paused by one of the doors. "She's in here. Are you ready?"

"Yes," Sherlock said quietly. He was still nervous.

Smiling, Dawn opened the door and poked her head inside. "Elspeth," she called. "Honey, he's here." She pushed the door open completely and gestured for Sherlock to go inside. His heart pounded as he walked into the room. The walls were brightly coloured and there were an array of beanbags and large cushions spread across the floor, and near the large window overlooking the back garden was a little girl, sitting at a small table with crayons and paper in front of her.

Sherlock couldn't help it. He stared at her. When she looked up at him tentatively, from under her long eyelashes, he saw that she had her mother's eyes; not quite brown, not quite green. But that wasn't what made him stare. She looked almost just like him. Her chin, her nose, her lips . . . they were all like his.

Elspeth continued to gaze at Sherlock for a few seconds before ducking her head and returning her attention back to her drawings in front of her. Sherlock looked over his shoulder at Dawn. She smiled back at him encouragingly.

"Elspeth," Dawn said. "It's your dad. He's come to see you, we talked about this, remember?"

"Hello," Sherlock said quietly. Elspeth glanced up at him and, feeling slightly heartened, Sherlock strolled across the room towards her. He crouched down at the other end of the table, lowering himself to her level so she wouldn't feel intimidated. "Elspeth."

She didn't acknowledge him, just continued to draw. She was nervous. Sherlock watched her for a few seconds, still awestruck by this small girl. Elspeth was so small and delicate, had her mother's eyes but Sherlock's features, was barely paying any attention to him . . . he couldn't wrap his head around it. Sherlock didn't have friends, not really, and his fling with Catherine had only been an experimental one at a drunken University party; there was no way he'd been anticipating becoming a father.

His mother had once told him there was nothing like the love a parent felt for their child. Sherlock didn't understand it yet, but he would in time.

Elspeth was still silent, drawing and colouring with her crayons. Clearing his throat, Sherlock reached for the nearest piece of paper and looked at what she had drawn. "This is very good," he told her half-heartedly, not sure of what else he could say.

Her gaze was suspicious as Elspeth lifted her eyes, her eyebrows raising slightly. The expression was thoroughly unimpressed and for some reason it made Sherlock want to laugh.

"What are you drawing now?" Sherlock asked her.

". . . Mummy," Elspeth finally replied softly. "She's gone away now."

"Yes, to rehab," Sherlock said without thinking. He frowned. Perhaps discussing Catherine's alcoholism wasn't appropriate for their first meeting . . .

"What's rehab?"

"It's a home." Sherlock chose his words carefully. "For adults who aren't feeling very well."

Her brow creasing slightly, Elspeth picked up a different coloured crayon. "Like hospital," she said. "That's where everyone goes when they aren't feeling very well." She was still quiet, but appeared as if she was opening up slightly.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, it's like a special hospital," he told her. Elspeth looked considering, like she was thinking about it, and finished her drawing with a smile. Sherlock peered over the edge of the paper at it. It was a rather unflattering picture of Catherine. He didn't tell her. "That's a good drawing," Sherlock said instead, only to receive another suspicious look from Elspeth. Perhaps she _wasn't _opening up. Elspeth picked up a different crayon. "What are you drawing now?"

Elspeth shrugged nonchalantly, drawing a large circle. She put down the pink crayon and reached out for the brown one, her eyes flickering upwards momentarily. "Do you have a job?"

"Yes. Every adult has a job."

"Not all of them. Mummy's parents didn't have one because they were too old."

"I stand corrected," Sherlock said, graciously accepting his mistake. Elspeth frowned at him.

"You're sitting down."

"It's a phrase, it's not meant to be taken – never mind," Sherlock said, realising he had lost Elspeth's attention, which was focused back on whatever she was drawing. "I do have a job, I'm a consulting detective."

The only word that Elspeth really recognised was 'detective', and she thought about one of her favourite TV shows she watched on Saturday mornings. "Are you like Scooby Doo? Do you have a Mystery Machine?" she asked him eagerly, her eyes lighting up. Sherlock felt confused.

". . . no," he said when he finally realised who Scooby Doo was. Elspeth looked disappointed. "I don't . . . find monsters."

"Why not?"

"Because monsters aren't real," Sherlock told her dryly. Elspeth looked so utterly unimpressed that her resemblance to him was uncanny. Her lips even tugged into a slight sneer as she gazed up at him.

"Yes they are," she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"No they're not."

"Yes they are," Elspeth insisted.

"No they're –" Sherlock cut himself off mid-sentence, remembering that he was an adult, not Elspeth's age, and was therefore excused from squabbling with little girls. Looking up at him from under her eyelashes, a grin started to spread across Elspeth's face, her cheeks turning pink as she tried to stifle her giggles. If he didn't think himself above glowering, Sherlock would've been doing so at the thought of being teased by a child. "I find real criminals," he retorted finally.

"Like the police," Elspeth said. "That's what the police do."

"I'm better than the police, I actually _find_ who they're looking for. What are you drawing now?"

Elspeth shielded the paper defensively, glaring at Sherlock. "You're not supposed to be looking, it's a _surprise_!"

Sherlock grimaced and muttered an apology, somewhat embarrassed that he had just been told off. He watched Elspeth draw for a few seconds, amused by the way she hunched over her paper so he wouldn't see whatever it was she was drawing; judging by the way she added masses of brown scribbles to the top of the very large pink circle, it was going to be another one of her unflattering portraits.

"Elspeth's always drawing," Dawn said from behind him, still lingering in the doorway. "Aren't you, Elspeth?"

"Yeah."

"Do you like drawing?" Sherlock asked her. It was another attempt at trying to get her to talk. He supposed that if he was going to be a father from now on, he should at least try to get to know his daughter. _Daughter_. The idea made him frown. If Elspeth hadn't been sitting in front of him right there and then, he wouldn't have believed it himself. He still didn't quite believe it.

"Yes," Elspeth said. She frowned at Sherlock. "I wouldn't do it if I didn't."

She was definitely a Holmes. Sherlock smiled. "Do you like to do anything else?"

"I like reading."

"She's learning to read," Dawn corrected with a fond smile in Elspeth's direction. It was returned with a sour look from Elspeth before she ducked her head again, returning to her drawing. "She's getting very good at it, right, Elspeth?"

Elspeth didn't even bother responding. A strand of hair dropped into her face and she brushed it back with an impatient huff, her eyes flickering up as she reached for another crayon, her hand hovering between the blue one and the green. Looking at Sherlock closely, she picked them both up, using them alternately.

"Can you draw?" Elspeth asked Sherlock. He was taken aback for a second.

"I'm really not much of an artist."

"You should draw," she insisted, picking up a piece of paper and shoving it towards him. Sherlock continued to protest but Elspeth was adamant that he had to draw with her, going so far as to climb up from her seat and open Sherlock's hand with both of hers so she could try to manoeuvre a crayon between his fingers. Eventually he gave in, pulling the paper a bit closer to himself.

"What should I draw?"

"It's not a surprise if I tell you."

A surprise. _Great_. Sherlock wasn't lying when he said he wasn't much of an artist, and as he started to scribble a blue sky at the top of the paper – he hoped Elspeth would be content with the typical drawing of a house in a garden with the sun and sky – Sherlock wondered why he had let this small girl get her way. Elspeth was smart and very stubborn, rather like him. Yes, Elspeth was definitely a Holmes.

"Look!" Elspeth said happily, standing up again. She walked around the table, tugged on Sherlock's sleeve – she was obviously not interested in the quality of his drawing if she kept interrupting him with careless actions like _that_, Sherlock thought with mild impatience – and showed him the drawing she'd just created. "Look, it's you!"

Sherlock took the drawing. It wasn't very flattering but it was a good effort; a bright pink circle with masses of brown scribbles that served as his curls, and eyes that were a wild mixture of green and blue crayon. Elspeth had somehow managed to capture Sherlock's usual haughty expression.

"Er . . . thank you. It's very nice."

"You can keep it," Elspeth told him. It was rather sweet, he supposed. "You have to draw me now."

"But you said –" spotting Elspeth's pleading expression, Sherlock abandoned his previous drawing and picked up a clean piece of paper, much to her delight.

Rather than go sit down again, like Sherlock expected her to, Elspeth stood by Sherlock's side and watched him draw. It was rather distracting.

"I can't draw you if you keep fidgeting like that," Sherlock told her. Elspeth laughed. "There. Is that alright?" Elspeth nodded. "You can keep that and put it on your wall in your bedroom . . . or wherever you want to keep it," he added as an afterthought. Elspeth beamed back at him, then at Dawn.

"Can I show him my room?"

"No, Elspeth, it's almost time for him to go," Dawn said calmly. Sherlock glanced over at the clock on the wall. He hadn't realised so much time had passed already.

Elspeth pouted with disappointment. "_Please_," she begged. "Please, please, please!"

"It's time for me to go actually," Sherlock said, rising to his feet.

"No!" Elspeth moaned. "Stay for a few more minutes!" she pouted, grabbing hold of Sherlock's sleeve and pulling on it. Sherlock rolled his eyes irritably and carefully detached her, tugging her away by the back of her dress and stepping around her before she could latch onto him again.

"Elspeth, it's time to go," Dawn told her in a much firmer voice than Sherlock had used. He was going to have to learn how to do that.

"But –"

"No buts. Time to go."

Elspeth glowered miserably, watching Sherlock leave. Sherlock smiled half-heartedly, gave her a small wave and followed Dawn out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. It wasn't _that_.

"How do you feel?" Dawn asked him, the pair strolling down the corridor.

"Fine," Sherlock said quietly. He felt . . . awestruck, oblivious to what his life was going to be like now that Elspeth was in his life, amazed that one small girl had rendered him utterly speechless in a petty argument about a cartoon. Elspeth was small and beautiful and so _perfect_, so unlike anything Sherlock could imagine. Who would've thought that one child could make him feel that way? "Is she always so . . ." his voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right word.

"Spirited?" Dawn suggested. Sherlock nodded. Elspeth was certainly spirited. "Yes, it takes her a bit of time to open up but when she does, she's a real firecracker." Sighing, Dawn tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's a shame. She doesn't really have any friends here. I think the other children are a bit . . ."

It was Sherlock's turn to suggest something. "Intimidated?"

Dawn laughed. "That's one way to put it," she said. "She's a lovely kid, honestly. She obviously likes you."

Sherlock frowned. It wasn't often he heard those words.

He supposed, in a way, that he liked Elspeth. Sherlock suddenly couldn't understand how Catherine had chosen alcohol over her.

"Do you think you'd ever consider becoming a full time parent?"

Sherlock stopped mid step. He slowly placed his foot back on the ground, turning to face Dawn with a shocked expression. She laughed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you like that! You've got ages to think about it," she assured him, putting her hand on his arm and smiling warmly at him. Sherlock glanced down at her hand but didn't comment, instead focusing on the question. It had stunned him. He hadn't considered becoming a full time parent. He hadn't considered becoming a parent at all until he received that phone call.

Sherlock generally avoided children. They loud, messy . . . he didn't dislike them as much as adults, but Sherlock otherwise tried not to interact with them. Elspeth was different though. Maybe it was because she was his daughter.

Full time parenting sounded like quite a task, though. Sherlock could barely look after himself, let alone take care of a much younger, more dependent person. Could he cope with that?

Sherlock didn't want to be like Catherine Fisher, who had no doubt made false promises and hurt Elspeth more than he could imagine. He didn't want to do that. Sherlock was selfish; he smoked far too many cigarettes, he slept at odd hours, he still took _drugs_ for God's sake - not that Dawn or social services were aware, of course. Sherlock Holmes was in absolutely no position to take care of a child.

"Perhaps," he said. There were always second chances, weren't there? Maybe Sherlock could clean his act up, get off the drugs – _try_ to get off the drugs – smoke a little less . . . he knew it was far easier said than done, but when Sherlock thought of Elspeth gazing up at him with those wide eyes off hers, there was something that made him want to at least try to sort himself out. Sherlock wanted to try and take care of Elspeth.

Dawn smiled again, squeezed Sherlock's arm and took her hand away. "You can visit as much as you like, obviously," she told him. "We just have to make the necessary arrangements."

Nodding, Sherlock made the firm decision to visit Elspeth again.

"Alright, well, ring at any time," Dawn said, opening the front door. "You have my number, don't you?"

"Yes. Er – thank you," Sherlock added hastily. His smile was sort of sincere.

"See you soon, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock got halfway down the drive before he heard a familiar voice calling out, shouting "Wait!" over and over again. Turning around, Sherlock stumbled back slightly when Elspeth hurtled into his legs and wrapped her arms around them, burying her face into his knees because she was too short to reach any higher. Dawn hurried to the doorway, stopping when she saw Elspeth.

"Oh," Sherlock said, at a loss for words. He looked around, possibly for help, and gently patted the top of Elspeth's head like she was a small animal. "Yes, goodbye." He expected Elspeth to let go but she clung on for a few seconds more, releasing him only when Sherlock pulled her away from him. Even then she persevered, grabbing hold of his hands and tugging until he gave in, kneeling down in front of her. "What do you want?" Sherlock asked irritably.

Grinning back widely, Elspeth hooked her arms around Sherlock's neck. It took Sherlock a moment to realise that she was hugging him.

Sherlock hesitated. He knew most people generally returned a hug but he felt so uncertain, so aware that Elspeth was a lot smaller than him and far more delicate. He put his arms around her carefully, letting his hands rest on her back, and hugged her back. Sherlock smiled. Maybe it wasn't _so _bad.

He didn't have to push Elspeth away from him that time. Strangely enough, Sherlock didn't _want_ to push her away, finding himself quite enjoying the embrace. A moment passed and Elspeth leaned back, her arms still around Sherlock's neck as she regarded him with a serious expression.

"You're coming back?" she asked him.

"Yes, of course," Sherlock promised with a small smile. Apparently satisfied, Elspeth hugged him again and pressed a warm kiss to his cheek.

"Bye Dad!"

Beaming, Elspeth turned and ran back inside, pausing to wave at Sherlock. He waved back.

It wasn't until Sherlock was in the taxi that he realised what Elspeth had called him. Dad. Leaning back in his seat, Sherlock couldn't help but smile smugly to himself – _Dad_. He could get used to that.


	2. Chapter 2

_**2.**_

_Baby mine, don't you cry, baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my hear, never to part, baby of mine  
>- Baby Mine, Dumbo <em>

"He's here, he's here!"

Throwing the clothes she was holding in her arms down, Elspeth hurtled down the stairs and into the front door, struggling to reach the lock. Dawn, who had been packing with her, followed Elspeth downstairs and opened the door for her.

"You're here!" Elspeth cried at Sherlock. He frowned back.

"Yes, I'm here," he said uncertainly. Dawn laughed.

"She's been excited all morning," she explained to Sherlock. "All week, in fact. We were just packing her clothes actually."

That clarified why Elspeth was so ecstatic to see him. Dawn managed to detach her from Sherlock's arm, which she'd been hanging off rather insistently, and sent her upstairs to finish off her packing. Elspeth, eager to leave, ran upstairs to her room while Dawn and Sherlock waited patiently in the office. When they heard the thud of Elspeth's bag landing at the bottom of the stairs, Dawn shook her head and Sherlock couldn't help but smile, feeling a little nervous. He never thought that the day Elspeth moved in with him would come so soon.

"Be good for your dad, alright?" Dawn said to Elspeth, kneeling down to her level. "Come on, give me a hug." She hugged Elspeth tightly and tucked the young girl's hair behind her ears, smiling fondly. "If you have any problems or questions, ring me – at any time," Dawn said to Sherlock. "I know how daunting this must be for you."

Sherlock nodded and thanked Dawn, picking Elspeth's bag up. It was lighter than he expected; Elspeth didn't have a lot of belongings.

"Let's go," he said to Elspeth, who was practically bouncing from excitement. She grinned at Dawn and said a final goodbye before grabbing hold of Sherlock's hand as they left the home. He looked down at her in surprise. He didn't pull away.

"Where are we going?" Elspeth asked.

"Home."

"Is it my home now?"

Sherlock frowned, glancing down at her. "Yes," he said. He wasn't certain _why_ Elspeth had to ask that. She seemed so excited that he added, "You have your own room as well." He'd spent ages preparing the spare bedroom; Sherlock bought her a new bed and other bits of furniture, unsure of what she would like but going with what the shop assistant had recommended. Sherlock tried not to go overboard on the pink though. That was enough to drive anyone crazy.

Elspeth grinned at the thought of her own room. She'd had a room in the home but it was small and plain and she wasn't allowed to decorate it. But now she had a bedroom that was all her own. She grinned up at Sherlock, and she didn't stop for the entire journey.

* * *

><p>Home was small, dark, and filled with belongings; there were a lot of books on the shelves, with hard covers and writing too little for Elspeth to read properly. Dirty dishes were piled up in or next to the sink, but there weren't that many because Sherlock didn't eat frequently, and equipment – beakers, a microscope, test tubes with brightly coloured liquid that Sherlock swept away before Elspeth could take a closer look – was piled up on the dining table.<p>

"Your room is down here," Sherlock told her, taking Elspeth's bag and leading her down the corridor. Elspeth trailed after him. "What do you think?"

Elspeth took everything in. She looked at the colourful duvet on the bed, then the flowery lamp on her bedside table and the fairy lights that Sherlock had trailed over her doorway just to make the room a little nicer for her. There were some age appropriate books on her bookshelf and soft cushions on her bed, and despite the plain white walls, it was the nicest room Elspeth had ever had.

"It's amazing!" she said truthfully, beaming up at Sherlock and holding her arms out. It took Sherlock a second to realise that she wanted a hug.

"Oh – er . . ." He knelt in front of her awkwardly, patting Elspeth on the back when she hugged him. He still wasn't used to Elspeth's physical displays of affection.

Sherlock stood up but Elspeth, giggling hysterically, had wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him with her arms hooked around Sherlock's neck. He tried to detach her but Elspeth was stubborn and no matter how hard she laughed, her grip wouldn't loosen on Sherlock. Sighing, Sherlock wrapped his arms around her so she wouldn't fall if she let go suddenly and carried her down the corridor.

"I'm hungry," Elspeth announced, her head resting on Sherlock's shoulder. He glanced at the clock and Elspeth started to play with Sherlock's hair, asking, "Can I have a biscuit?"

"One."

"Two," Elspeth bargained.

"One," Sherlock insisted firmly. He carried Elspeth through to the kitchen and deposited her on the counter, her legs hanging over the edge. Sherlock gave her a stern look when she began to fidget. "Sit still or you can sit on the floor." Elspeth was still. "One biscuit, and you can have fish fingers for dinner."

He didn't even know if Elspeth liked fish fingers. Her face lit up when he mentioned them though.

"And chips!"

Sherlock opened the freezer, taking out the fish fingers and screwing his nose up. "I have waffles," he said. Elspeth didn't look very happy but accepted the substitute with a shrug, swinging her legs so her heels bashed against the counter. Sherlock glared at her over his shoulder.

"Don't do that," he said to her.

"Why?"

"Because it's annoying."

"_Loads_ of things are annoying," Elspeth said, watching Sherlock turn on the oven and open the box of fish fingers. "Like not getting biscuits." It wasn't exactly a subtle hint but Elspeth got what she wanted, grinning as she nibbled on the biscuit Sherlock handed to her while he struggled to make dinner for them both. He didn't eat that often and when he did, it was usually take aways because then Sherlock could simply dispose of the packaging. But cooking _seemed_ simple enough.

"It won't be long," Sherlock said. "Go . . . sit at the table."

"But there's lots of stuff on it," Elspeth pointed out. Sherlock glanced at the mess on the table and huffed. He couldn't move any of it because there was nowhere to keep it all.

"Fine, you can have dinner in front of the TV," he said in defeat. He'd only had Elspeth for a short time and yet he was already exhausted by her. Elspeth lifted her arms and Sherlock picked her up, holding her away from him as he placed her on the floor so she couldn't attach herself to him a second time. Once on her feet, Elspeth darted across the room and turned on the TV before struggling to climb onto the sofa. It only took a few attempts before she managed it. Sherlock smiled.

It didn't take long to make dinner; the edges of the fish fingers were a little burned but Sherlock scraped those bits off before handing the plate to Elspeth. She looked up at him uncertainly.

"What?"

"I need help cutting it."

Sherlock sighed and cut Elspeth's dinner up in bite sized portions for her, receiving a very sweet thank you from Elspeth in response. She ate quietly then and Sherlock glanced at her every so often. This was it; his daughter was living with him. And she was so small and delicate and quiet, her short legs barely reaching the edge of the sofa. Sherlock still couldn't believe it.

They finished dinner and watched TV for a while together, and Sherlock didn't pull away when Elspeth leaned against him.

"Bed time," Sherlock announced when it got late – later than Elspeth should've been up.

"No!" Elspeth wailed. She was struggling to keep her eyes open and no matter how hard she tried, Elspeth couldn't suppress her yawns. But she remained stubborn. "I'm not tired!"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her, standing up, and Elspeth glowered back at him as she crossed her arms. When he realised she wasn't going to move, no matter how many times he told her it was time for bed, Sherlock scooped Elspeth up in his arms and carried her through to the bathroom.

Elspeth was even more difficult in her sleepy state. She refused to let Sherlock brush her teeth and wriggled away when he washed her face with a flannel. Elspeth whined even more when Sherlock brushed her hair.

"Bed." Elspeth glared at him and Sherlock glared back. "_Bed_," he repeated firmly.

Turning around, Elspeth marched into her bedroom with Sherlock following close behind. They hadn't unpacked her bag yet – Sherlock said they could do it in the morning – so Elspeth had to sit and wait patiently while he dug through her belongings for her pyjamas. He handed them to her.

"Wait," Elspeth said when Sherlock turned to leave.

"What now?"

Elspeth shuffled, holding the pyjamas close. "I need help," she mumbled with her head ducked so her chin pressed against her chest. "Please."

Sherlock was a cold man, but he was not a cruel one. He shut the door again and sat down in front of Elspeth, gesturing for her to come closer. She grinned. Sherlock took the pyjamas from her, lying them on the floor next to him, and gave her an expectant look.

"Arms up," he ordered. Elspeth lifted her arms and Sherlock helped her out of her shirt. She laughed when he tickled her by accident. "Keep them up," he added, noticing Elspeth's arms started to drop. Sherlock pulled her pyjama shirt on over her head, holding out the sleeves so she could slide her arms in, and then undid her jeans so Elspeth could wriggle out of them.

Sherlock frowned when he looked at the indents and marks the jeans had left behind on Elspeth's waist. He ran his fingers along some of them, making Elspeth giggle again. Sherlock didn't smile.

Checking her shirt, Sherlock realised it had been stretched. It wouldn't have fit her otherwise.

He held her pyjama trousers out for her. Elspeth clung onto Sherlock's shoulders as she stepped into them and Sherlock pulled them up, tugging her shirt down a little.

"There. All ready for bed."

Elspeth hugged Sherlock – she really liked hugs – and he lifted her onto the bed, pulling the duvet up. She wriggled about for a few seconds, nestling herself into the covers, and rolled onto her side with her head on the pillow. Elspeth gazed up at Sherlock for a few seconds.

"Are you going to read to me?"

"No. Go to sleep." Sherlock strode out of the room before Elspeth could protest and shut the door behind him. He knew that he'd only get halfway through the book before Elspeth fell asleep. It was a waste of time.

* * *

><p>Hours passed and Sherlock didn't sleep, stretched out across the sofa with a nicotine patch on his arm – he <em>longed<em> for a proper cigarette – and listened to the stillness of the flat, his eyes flickering shut. Sherlock opened them at the sound of footsteps and turned his head to the side, frowning at Elspeth. She stood by the sofa, shaking and teary eyed, her face pale. Sherlock's eyes flickered up to the clock. She'd only been asleep a few hours.

"What?"

Elspeth mumbled something, her voice too low for Sherlock to hear, and he sat up with an impatient sigh.

"I can't understand you when you mumble," he told her. "What's wrong?"

"I had a nightmare."

Her voice was still soft but shaking, and Sherlock saw that Elspeth was obviously upset by the nightmare. There was no point in explaining the reasons behind nightmares – Sherlock read about them when he was young – and when Elspeth lifted her arms, he knew he had no other choice than to try and comfort her.

Picking her up, Sherlock held Elspeth awkwardly on his lap. She shifted and wriggled and made herself comfortable, burying her face into his chest and clutching the front of his shirt. Sherlock rested his chin on the top of her head and rubbed a hand up and down her back, remembering that was how his mother used to do when he was young.

"I was scared," Elspeth murmured.

"Don't be," Sherlock said. Elspeth kept shaking so he held her closer to his chest.

They sat for a few minutes in silence; Sherlock hugged Elspeth while she calmed down, a few stray tears trickling down her cheeks and onto Sherlock's shirt. He ignored the damp feeling.

When Elspeth was calmer, Sherlock patted her on the back and announced, "You ought to get back into bed."

Elspeth's grip on his shirt tightened. "Don't leave me," she pleaded with an anxious look in her eyes, craning her head back to stare at him. She was terrified to be alone and Sherlock found that he didn't want to let her go.

"I won't," he promised. Sherlock thought back to Elspeth's earlier request and grimaced. "Do you still want me to read to you?"

Elspeth nodded silently against his chest.

Shifting her so he could stand up, Sherlock carried Elspeth back to her room, turning on the light as he walked in. She picked out a book and curled up in bed when Sherlock put her down, tugging on his sleeve.

"You have to sit down with me," Elspeth insisted. It was becoming increasingly harder for Sherlock to say no to every one of her requests; he sat down on the edge of her bed, and when Elspeth tugged on his sleeve a second time, Sherlock leaned back and stretched his legs out in front him, sitting on the bed next to her. It took Elspeth a few seconds more to get comfortable because she wanted to lean against Sherlock while he read to her but it was difficult, so in the end, Elspeth climbed onto Sherlock's lap.

"Er –" Sherlock stammered, uncertain of how to react. Elspeth leaned with her back against his chest and opened the book for him, gently nudging his arm.

"You have to read," she reminded him.

Sherlock nodded, focused on the page, and started to read. It was a ludicrous tale about a woman who was sent into the woods with a huntsman – Sherlock half muttered the bit about the man raising his dagger, ready to cut out the young woman's heart, because he didn't want to scare Elspeth even more – and ended up in a cottage with seven dwarves. Sherlock had never been one for fairy tales but Elspeth seemed to love it.

"Another one," Elspeth insisted, looking up at Sherlock with a wide grin. She was over her nightmare then.

Sherlock frowned. "It's getting late," he began, stopping when Elspeth's bottom lip trembled slightly and she began to bat her long eyelashes at him. Sherlock stared at her. He was used to manipulating people, usually clients or witnesses, into talking . . . but witnessing it first hand, from a _child_ . . . that was new.

How did she do that?

"What book do you want to read next?" Sherlock found himself asking, followed by a surge of disbelief. He was going to have to learn to be a bit sterner with Elspeth.

"Tell me a story," Elspeth said, nestling into his chest again with a content smile. "A detective story."

Sherlock sighed, racked his brain, and began like the story he'd read. "Once upon a time there was a detective –"

"And he had a daughter," Elspeth interrupted.

"I can't tell you a story if you keep interrupting me," Sherlock reminded her. Elspeth giggled and pressed her finger to her mouth, promising she would try to keep quiet. He started again. "Once upon a time there was a detective and his daughter, and one day they were working on the case of . . ." his voice trailed off uncertainly. Sherlock thought about several of the most recent cases he'd dealt with.

"The missing diamonds," Elspeth supplied. She'd forgotten her promise not to interrupt but was playing with the buttons of Sherlock's shirt, so she didn't notice the look he gave her.

"The case of the missing diamonds," he said in agreement. "A client called –"

"What's a client?"

"Someone who comes to see me when they have a case," Sherlock explained.

"Was she pretty?" Elspeth asked. Sherlock frowned at her. "The client? Was she pretty?"

Apparently the client was a woman. "Yes," Sherlock said without thought; he'd never been one to notice or judge external attractiveness of his clients. In fact, he barely noticed. "She was."

"Her name was Rose," Elspeth decided. "And we're the detective and his daughter."

"I thought I was telling you the story," Sherlock said with a grin, digging his finger into her side and making her giggle, squirming away. He didn't mind really. "Once upon a time –"

"You've already done this bit."

"Rose came to the detective and his daughter, and she told them about her missing diamonds that had been stolen during a dinner party the previous week. There were four suspects – people who may have stolen them," Sherlock added hastily when he saw the small crease in Elspeth's forehead.

"One of them was the butler," she said. "There's always a butler."

"The other three were business associates, and they all had a motive," Sherlock said, then paused to explain what a motive was. "A reason to steal the diamonds." Elspeth nodded and waited for Sherlock to continue the story. He made up motives on the spot before carrying on. "So the detective suggested that she recreate the dinner party."

"And the detective and his daughter went," Elspeth took over. "The detective was staring at everybody –"

"I don't stare," Sherlock muttered.

"_Shush_, I'm getting to the good bit! The detective was staring at everybody because he wanted to know who stole the diamonds –" Elspeth patted Sherlock on the hand. "Your turn."

"While his daughter crawled under the table, undercover –"

"Like a spy!"

"Like a spy," Sherlock agreed. He knew that when included in a story, children generally liked to be the hero, and he kept that in mind as he spoke. "His daughter crawled under the table and checked everybody's pockets because they didn't know she was there."

"Did she find the diamonds?"

"No –" Elspeth's face dropped. "But she did find a business card of a local pawn shop in the butler's pocket –"

"I knew it was the butler!" Elspeth cried excitedly. She probably didn't but Sherlock let her say she did.

"And when they all went to the shop, Rose's diamonds were on display. The butler resented her for bossing him around so much with little pay that he stole her diamonds in revenge and pocketed the money," Sherlock concluded. "The diamonds were returned to their rightful owner and the butler was arrested for theft."

"Did he go to prison?" Elspeth asked. She sounded sleepy. "That's where all the bad guys go."

"Yes, he went to prison."

"And the detective and his daughter lived happily ever after." Elspeth yawned. "I'm a bit tired now," she admitted, leaning against Sherlock. He gently manoeuvred her onto the bed, pulling the duvet up to her shoulders, and Elspeth held her arms out for a hug. "Night night, Dad."

Sherlock smiled, hugging her back. "Goodnight, Elspeth," he murmured. He hesitated for a moment before bending down and kissing her forehead. "Sleep well."

He turned to leave the room, turning off the light but leaving the lamp on in case Elspeth had any more nightmares. Sherlock was about to shut the door when he heard Elspeth calling across to him in a tired voice.

"Love you."

Sherlock paused. He smiled.

"Love you too," he whispered, closing the door behind him. They both slept soundly that night.

* * *

><p>Thank you WerewolfHybrid31, GeorgyannWayson, fairytale city, tardislover1, Adrillian1497, Deductions-of-Sherlolly, cutester, E I Cochrane, bellechat and aorangeinboston for reviewing!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

_**3.**_

_Every moment now the bond grows stronger. Two worlds, one family.  
>-Two Worlds, Tarzan<em>

It wasn't often that Mycroft Holmes visited his younger brother, because when he did so, Sherlock always seemed to make sure that he wasn't in or the front door to his flat was so securely locked that not even Anthea – Mycroft's new assistant, though he was certain that it wasn't her real name – could unlock it.

Sherlock obviously hadn't anticipated Mycroft's visit; the front door opened when the older Holmes rapped on it with the handle of his umbrella, but not by Sherlock. Mycroft caught a glimpse of a child before the door was slammed shut again.

Confused, Mycroft knocked a second time.

"Oh," Sherlock said dismissively. "It's you."

"Pleasant, as always, to see you again, Sherlock," Mycroft replied with a forced smile. "Are you going to invite me in?"

His nose screwed up with mild annoyance, Sherlock opened the door and stepped to the side, allowing Mycroft access into the apartment. As usual, it was a mess; there were dirty dishes in the sink, papers all over the table and lifting his foot after hearing a soft crunch, Mycroft saw there were a variety of crayons scattered about the carpet. He raised an eyebrow.

Looking up, Mycroft caught sight of a big pair of eyes peering at him from over the arm of Sherlock's chair before the owner quickly ducked down, hiding from sight.

Mycroft's eyes made another sweep of the room. Crayons, a doll sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, an open pot of nail varnish lying on its side on the fireplace . . . he looked back towards the armchair, catching sight of a child's face before it disappeared once again.

"Should I be offering someone condolences?" he asked Sherlock, who was in the kitchen making tea. He could only presume that someone must've died to leave his brother in charge of a young child.

"I suppose you could offer them to Catherine Fisher," Sherlock replied, putting a small pot of sugar down on the tray. "She's depressed and has been admitted into rehab."

The child, a small girl, stood on her tiptoes to peer at Mycroft.

"Hello," Mycroft said pleasantly, smiling at her. She stared at him before slowly disappearing from view for the third time, crawling around the back of the chair on her hands and knees. Mycroft pretended he couldn't see her. "Shy, is she?"

"No, she doesn't like you," Sherlock replied happily. "Elspeth, do you want some juice?" Sitting up, Elspeth nodded and Mycroft got a good look at her, deciding that she was quite adorable really. She regarded Mycroft with a solemn gaze, her thumb in her mouth, and she ducked her head when he smiled at her. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"You seem to have forgotten our previous engagement," Mycroft said. He watched as Elspeth trailed after Sherlock, following him into the kitchen. Sherlock handed her a plastic cup. "Mummy's made dinner reservations, remember?" Sighing, Sherlock dropped into his chair and scowled; he'd forgotten all about the dinner. "Would you prefer it if I offered my congratulations?"

Sherlock glared back at him. "Have you put on weight?"

"Lost it," Mycroft replied calmly. "How old is she?"

"Three." Elspeth looked up at Sherlock, who added, "we're talking about you, not to you."

Elspeth obviously didn't understand what Sherlock had said to her because she grinned back at him brightly, then looked back down at her drawing. She scribbled masses of dark curls to the top of the stick figure's head.

"And you now have sole custody of her," Mycroft said.

"Yes."

"How long have you known you have a daughter?"

Sherlock sighed. "Since she was born."

"Does Mummy know?" Mycroft asked. "She would love to meet her only grandchild."

"No, I haven't told her yet."

"Well I'd say that this is a perfect time to tell her," Mycroft replied, taking his phone out and dialling his mother's number, holding the phone out of reach when Sherlock lunged across the room for it. Elspeth looked up at Sherlock in surprise. Smiling smugly, Mycroft held the phone to his ear. "Hello Mummy!" he gushed. "I'm alright. Sherlock's got some exciting news for you – we have someone joining us for dinner tonight."

Sherlock glared furiously at Mycroft, snatched the phone from him and held it to his ear.

"Hello Mummy," he said, still glaring at Mycroft before turning his back and walking through to the kitchen for a bit of privacy. Smirking, Mycroft looked down at Elspeth.

"What are you drawing?" he asked.

"Daddy." Elspeth added a final scribble and climbed to her feet, holding the drawing out to Mycroft. "Look!"

Taking the picture, Mycroft forced himself to smile. "It's very good."

"Should I draw you?"

"Yes, if you want."

Grinning, Elspeth picked up another piece of paper and a grey crayon, her eyes darting between it and Mycroft to check it was the right colour. She did the basic stick outline, then glanced up at Mycroft again. She made the stick figure slightly thicker.

It didn't take Elspeth long to draw Mycroft, and the final result was a large, wide stick figure without a lot of hair and a poorly scribbled umbrella in its hand. She showed it to him with a wide smile.

"It's you," she told him, standing on her tiptoes next to his chair. "That's you." She pointed at the stick figure just in case Mycroft wasn't sure. "That's your umbrella." Elspeth pointed at the umbrella she had drawn, screwing her nose up slightly. "It's not raining."

"No, it isn't," Mycroft agreed.

"Why do you have an umbrella?"

"It's better to be safe than sorry," Mycroft said. The meaning of his wise words were lost on Elspeth, as she simply gave him a confused look, scrunched her nose up and walked away again. When Sherlock fell back into his chair, throwing the phone to Mycroft, Elspeth stood by Sherlock's feet and lifted her arms.

"Up," she said when he failed to notice. Sherlock held Elspeth on his lap.

"Thank you, Mycroft, I now have to bring my three year old to dinner with us," he snapped at Mycroft, irritated. Elspeth looked between the two men.

"Are you fighting?" she asked.

"No, of course not," Mycroft told her, smiling at her.

"We're not fighting," Sherlock promised. Elspeth, content with the answer, nestled her head into Sherlock's chest and Mycroft looked closely at her, focusing on her clothes.

"She needs more clothes, those look a little small for her," Mycroft told Sherlock.

"I'm aware of that, Mycroft," Sherlock said through gritted teeth. He tightened his arms around Elspeth defensively and she craned her neck back, looking up at him in confusion. She couldn't understand what was going on. "I'm taking her shopping soon."

"Probably for the best. I'm surprised you didn't notice earlier."

"I've been busy."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, sneering at his brother. "Doing what?"

"Being a parent," Sherlock snapped back, his gaze hard. Mycroft stopped sneering and looked at the clock instead, hiding the guilt in his eyes. Sherlock glared at his brother for a few seconds and then lifted Elspeth off his lap, putting her on the floor. She glared at him. "Go get your shoes and coat. We're going out."

Mycroft watched Elspeth, amused by the way she darted down the corridor to her room like she was being chased. "She's very excitable," he commented. Mycroft generally avoided children; they were loud and messy, and the constant supervision needed was tiresome. He supposed that he would have to make an exception for Elspeth.

"Common trait of children her age," Sherlock muttered. Elspeth came back into the room, taking large, awkward steps to avoid treading on her untied laces. Sherlock smirked when she approached Mycroft, staring at him pointedly while holding one of her feet out, and Mycroft looked back at his brother. Sherlock offered no help.

Grimacing, Mycroft awkwardly lifted Elspeth up onto his lap, stiffening when she wriggled about to get comfy.

"Tie them," she said, holding her foot out again. "Please."

Mycroft glared at Sherlock, who just smiled back with a smug expression, and reached over to tie Elspeth's laces. "Is that alright for you?" he asked her, remembering how particular Sherlock had been when he was Elspeth's age.

"Yes, thank you," Elspeth said rather sweetly, grinning up at Mycroft. He smiled back.

"You're very welcome," he told her, keeping his arms around her even though he knew he didn't have to. Mycroft rarely held Sherlock when he was young because Sherlock was so difficult and awkward, and hated being touched by anyone. Elspeth, however, was far more receptive to bursts of physical affection – even if it was only being held on her uncle's lap. Even so, it made Mycroft smile to himself. "We should leave now if we want to make it in time."

"Who said we want to make it?" Sherlock retorted. The last thing he wanted was to go for dinner with his family.

"Where are we going?" Elspeth piped up, looking between Mycroft and Sherlock. "I want to go!"

"Nowhere important," Sherlock said.

"Dinner with the family," Mycroft said at the same time, and because he was closer to Elspeth, she looked round at him with excitement in her eyes.

"I like dinner."

Sherlock scoffed quietly and rose from his chair, picking up his coat. "I suppose we should get this over with," he said in a suffering tone, and for once, Mycroft felt a touch of sympathy for his brother. Dinner with their parents was all well and good, but they were so _normal_. Then there would be their mother's constant chatter – about the weather, their weekly dinner parties, what daft escapade their father had gotten himself into this time. She'd fuss over them all as well, which was probably the worst part; their mother was under the impression that though her sons were grown men, they still needed looking after.

"Elspeth, coat," Sherlock said to his daughter, who was still siting rather happily on Mycroft's lap. She slid down, landing on her feet and stumbling, and ran across the room fetch her coat, which was hanging on a peg too high for Elspeth to reach. She struggled for a few seconds and huffed.

"Do you need –" Mycroft began, ready to assist her, but Elspeth had already picked up his umbrella and carried it rather unsteadily towards the coat pegs.

Sherlock and Mycroft watched – torn between admiration and shock – as Elspeth held the umbrella as high as she could without dropping it, nudging her coat off the peg with the end. When the coat dropped to her feet, Elspeth put the umbrella down on the floor and pulled her coat on, grinning at her father and uncle.

"Got it!" she said brightly.

"She is definitely your daughter," Mycroft said dryly, retrieving his umbrella from the ground. "Shall we?"

"Shall we what?" Elspeth asked, confused.

"Leave."

Elspeth stared up at him, frowned, and screwed up her nose. "Why didn't you just ask if we should leave?"

"You were saying?" Sherlock teased from behind him, striding past Mycroft and holding his hand towards Elspeth, who took it immediately. "Come on, Elspeth, enough winding Uncle Mycroft up."

"But he said –"

"He says a lot of things, it doesn't mean you have to listen. I don't."

Elspeth giggled and Sherlock grinned down at her, which made her laugh even more. Mycroft rolled his eyes. If he thought his brother was going to be hard to deal with, he definitely had his hands full with Elspeth as well. Mycroft could already tell that he was going to have to keep an eye on the pair.

"Come on!" Elspeth insisted, tugging on Sherlock's hand. She paused long enough to let him open the door and raced down the corridor, pausing at the end. Elspeth gave Sherlock and Mycroft a frustrated look when they failed to join her quickly, running back and grabbing hold of both their hands, skipping between the two. Mycroft, who wasn't used to having a small child cling to him in such a way, stared down at her in surprise. "Dinner, dinner, dinner," Elspeth sung, much to their amusement. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere boring with bland and overpriced food," Sherlock said. Elspeth didn't understand half of what he had said and smiled in response.

"I want a waffle."

Sherlock frowned at her. "You can't have a waffle."

"Why?"

"You've already had waffles for dinner."

"You'll turn into a waffle," Mycroft added with a smirk. Elspeth's eyes widened.

"So I can eat myself all day long and not go hungry! Daddy, I want waffles."

Mycroft shook his head at Elspeth's strange logic and Sherlock glared at his brother, as if to say _now look what you've done._ Elspeth continued her discussion about waffles and why they were the best food ever all the way to the restaurant.

* * *

><p>The first thing Wanda Holmes did when she saw her sons was hug them both tightly, squeezing them as hard as she could because she saw them so little that they had no choice but to put up with her affections. She batted Sherlock lightly, scolding him for not telling her about her granddaughter earlier, and turned her attention to Elspeth, who was standing next to Sherlock and staring around the restaurant with wide eyes, clearly fascinated by all the goings on.<p>

"Hello Elspeth," Wanda said in a gentle voice, crouching in front of Elspeth. "I'm your Nan! This is your Granddad!" She gestured to her husband, Timothy, who smiled and waved at Elspeth. She smiled back shyly.

"Hello," Elspeth said. Then, without prompt, she stepped forwards and hugged Wanda like she'd seen other children hug their grandparents.

"Come on, young lady," Timothy said when Elspeth hugged him, taking her by the hand and escorting her to her chair. "Let's see what we can do in your activity pack, shall we?"

"Oh, she is just precious," Wanda gushed, grasping Sherlock's arm. He grimaced. "Sherlock, why didn't you get involved in her life sooner? I'm telling you now, there's nothing quite like the love a parent has for their child – but you know all about that, don't you, Sherlock? Mikey, why haven't you got any children yet, mmm? I'm sure a handsome man like you could get a pretty girl's attention –"

"Work comes first, I'm afraid," Mycroft replied, sitting down. Wanda sighed, took a seat on Elspeth's other side and smiled at Sherlock.

"At least we have _one_ grandchild," she said. Wanda had always hoped that one of her boys would settle down, start a family . . . even if it wasn't what she envisioned, she couldn't have been happier to introduce Elspeth into the family.

"What are you drawing, Elspeth?" Mycroft asked, seeing his niece hunched over the activity pack the restaurant had provided; it was a booklet filled with spaces to draw, word and number puzzles, and a few other things such as mazes and childish quizzes. It even came with a small pack of crayons, which Elspeth had open and spread out in front of her.

"It's a surprise," Elspeth told him, barely lifting her head.

Timothy smiled, edging a bit closer to her. "Can I peek?"

"_No_! It's a surprise!"

"Don't ask her again," Sherlock warned, knowing his father's tendencies to tease people. It was all well-meaning and in good fun, but Sherlock knew that Elspeth would throw a fit if anyone asked a third time. He was relieved to see she had something to do.

"She's being ever so good," Wanda said, watching Elspeth put down her crayon and turn the page. "Oh, I thought you were drawing, dear?"

"I'm gonna finish it later," Elspeth said. She tugged on Timothy's sleeve and pointed to something on the page. "What's that?"

"We're going to have to stay in London for a few days more, dear," Wanda said to her husband when he wasn't occupied with Elspeth's activity pack. Timothy Holmes wasn't stupid, but perhaps a little more content with the simple things in life. Sherlock and Mycroft didn't look too pleased with the idea. "Well, I for one want to get to know our only granddaughter. I still can't believe you kept it from us this long, Sherlock."

"It wasn't intentional," Sherlock admitted. He hadn't expected his parents would be so excited. "Elspeth, put that away. You need to order food." Elspeth ignored him. "Elspeth, put it away," he repeated firmly.

"I'm busy!"

"Come on, dear, you can have it back when you've chosen what you want for dinner," Timothy said to her, carefully removing the pack from in front of her.

"Granddad!" Elspeth wailed, reaching for it.

"You can have it back in a minute," Sherlock told her. Elspeth glared at him, folding her arms and pushing the menu away when Timothy placed it in front of her. Sherlock gave her a stern look. "Choose, or I will choose for you," he threatened. Elspeth glowered. "I'm going to count to three and if you don't pick up that menu, I'm taking you straight home and putting you to bed without dinner. One, two –"

Sherlock didn't have to say anything more; Elspeth picked the menu up, slapped it on the table and opened it with a furious look on her face. Wanda smiled.

"You two were worse," she said to Mycroft and Sherlock.

Elspeth's bad mood didn't last for long. With Wanda's assistance she picked what she wanted to eat, returned to her activity pack, and promised that she wouldn't be stroppy when they put it away for dinner.

The dinner went as most Holmes family dinners did. Sherlock and Mycroft spent most of the time making deductions – about their waiter, the other diners, even their parents. Timothy found it amusing, making the occasional comment and helping Elspeth by cutting her food, but Wanda scolded them, telling them to stop it. There was some idle chitchat, which was ignored by Sherlock and Elspeth, and Elspeth managed to get most of her dessert on her face. At the end of the meal, she slid down from her seat and scrambled onto Sherlock's lap instead.

"Are you tired?" he asked her softly, stroking her hair behind her ears.

"No," Elspeth said, stubborn as ever. Wanda smiled, pleased to see her youngest interact so naturally with a child. His child. She never thought she'd have grandchildren.

"Alright," she said. "Time to go."

They paid the bill and Wanda ushered her family out, holding Timothy's arm while Mycroft and Sherlock walked ahead of their parents. Sherlock was carrying a very tired Elspeth, whose head rested against her father's shoulder as she tried to keep her eyes awake, determined not to fall asleep.

"That went well," Mycroft muttered, too quiet for their parents to hear. Sherlock made a noise of agreement.

Wanda kissed both her sons goodbye – they allowed her to without complaint, though they did grimace when they thought she wasn't looking – and smiled at her sleeping granddaughter, reaching up to touch Sherlock's cheek.

"I'm not saying it'll be easy," she said quietly. "But it's worth it. You're going to be a great parent, Sherlock, I can already tell."

* * *

><p>Thank you WerewolfHybrid31, LoverofWords22, ScissorLuv143, Deductions-of-Sherlolly, Adrillian1497, bellechat, KirstyLaura91, Elspeth 2 and Aimee for reviewing!<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

_**4.**_

_Well, honey, I've seen worse. We're going to turn this sow's ear into a silk purse.  
>- Honour To Us All, Mulan<em>

"What are you doing?"

"Thinking," Sherlock said, cracking his eyes open and sighing when he saw the state of Elspeth's hair; he hated brushing it.

"Oh." She paused. "Breakfast now," Elspeth prompted.

Sherlock sighed again, sitting up and smoothing down her hair, which did little to help as it still stuck out in all directions no matter how many times Sherlock ran his fingers through it. He shook his head and bent down, kissing Elspeth on her forehead. He walked through to the kitchen with Elspeth trailing close behind him.

"What do you want?"

Elspeth looked thoughtful, then held her arms up. Sherlock picked her up and held her against his hip while she decided what she wanted to eat. "Toast," Elspeth finally mumbled after a few seconds.

Sherlock turned and picked up one of the few remaining slices of bread. There were several bits of mould growing on it. He grimaced. "How about we go out for breakfast?" he suggested. Mycroft was meant to be joining them but Sherlock was sure he wouldn't mind. Much.

"Um . . . ok." Elspeth kept her arms wrapped around Sherlock's neck, which meant she wanted him to carry her to her bedroom. She was clingy, and liked to be close to him, he had noticed. It was odd having someone who depended on him, who constantly wanted reassurance that he was still there.

It took several minutes to get Elspeth dressed; he managed to get her in her t-shirt and knickers before she decided to bolt off, running through the flat while giggling hysterically. Sherlock was faster than her, but Elspeth was persistent, and a great chase began. It lasted for about two minutes before they heard a knock at the door, and Sherlock and Elspeth looked at each other for a second. Elspeth reached the door first.

"I'm no expert," Mycroft said, bemused to see his niece standing in nothing more than her t-shirt and knickers. "But I do believe you have to get dressed in order to leave the flat."

Elspeth stared up at him, obviously confused, and Sherlock sneaked up on her from behind, grabbing her with one arm looped around her waist as he swept her into his arms. Elspeth giggled, and Mycroft watched with amusement as Sherlock carried her through to the living room, nearly dropping her when she wriggled about in his arms. Rather than step into her jeans, as Elspeth usually did, she dropped to the floor and lay down on her back with her legs in the air.

"Need help?" Mycroft asked, shutting the door behind him while Sherlock wrestled with Elspeth's legs, trying to keep them straight so he could get her jeans on. She kept moving them about.

"No," Sherlock said through gritted teeth. Every time he grasped one of Elspeth's ankles, she would wriggle it out of his grip when he reached for her other ankle, thus beginning the cycle all over again. "Elspeth, put your –" he didn't get the chance to finish his sentence; Elspeth scrambled away and ran away, still in her knickers. Sherlock stared after her.

"This is certainly new," Mycroft commented, watching Elspeth as she ran several laps around the sofa for no apparent reason. "You never ran about in your underwear."

"I never ran," Sherlock muttered. He tried to catch Elspeth as she passed but she was surprisingly quick. "Come back here, Elspeth." She ignored him. Rolling his eyes, Mycroft intervened – albeit reluctantly – and caught his niece, holding her still so Sherlock could pull her jeans on for her. Elspeth didn't stop laughing.

"You're in high spirits," Mycroft said, lifting Elspeth onto his lap while Sherlock fetched her socks.

"We're going out for breakfast," Elspeth told him with a wide grin. She swung her legs. "We haven't got any breakfast here."

"Oh?" Mycroft's eyebrow rose. "Care to explain, Sherlock?"

"I've been busy," Sherlock said. He rolled Elspeth's socks on her feet and then manoeuvred her shoes on with some difficulty, trying to stay patient even though she kept swinging her legs. "Come on, Elspeth, time for breakfast."

Elspeth held onto both of their hands while they walked through London, gaining a lot of attention from middle aged women who would smile down at her, then at Sherlock and Mycroft. Sherlock did not smile back.

They reached a café, the smell of grease lingering in the air when Sherlock pushed the door open, and he led Mycroft and Elspeth through the narrow gaps between the tables. There were a few elderly couples sitting together, a small group of students hunching over their books, and builders scattered about the café as they nursed their morning coffees. Sherlock found them an empty table not far from the counter, helping Elspeth into the seat facing the kitchen so she could see what was going on.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked. Mycroft sat down next to Elspeth and Sherlock sat across from them, picking up a menu. Elspeth copied him even though she couldn't read most of it.

"Toast," Elspeth said. It was one of the few words she recognised. "Jammy toast. Lots and lots of jam."

All Mycroft and Sherlock wanted was tea, and neither of them spoke to each other while they waited, watching Elspeth play with the salt and pepper shakers on the table. When Elspeth accidentally knocked over the salt shaker, Sherlock observed as she swept the salt grains off the table, acting like nothing had happened.

"What's that?" she asked when the waitress brought the tea to the table.

"Tea," Mycroft explained.

Elspeth peered into Mycroft's cup, her brow furrowing. "It's brown," she said. "Why is it brown? Can I try some?"

"You won't like it," Mycroft warned her. Elspeth didn't listen, pulling the cup closer and sipping the tea, grimacing when she tasted it. She spat the mouthful back into Mycroft's cup and turned her attention on her breakfast, leaving Mycroft to stare mournfully at his tea. Sherlock smirked, watching Elspeth; she peeled the crusts off her toast, licked the jam, and nibbled the edges of the bread, getting a lot of jam on her fingers in the process.

"Sticky," Elspeth complained when she was finished, holding her jammy hands out in front of her. Sherlock rolled his eyes and wiped them as best as he could with a napkin. There was a lot of jam around her mouth as well and she complained when Sherlock tried to wipe that away, but he managed to clean her off without too much fuss.

"How do you get so messy?" he complained. Elspeth shrugged. "It was a rhetorical question."

"What does re – toor – icicle mean?"

"Rhetorical," Sherlock corrected, though he did smile at her effort. "It doesn't require –" he paused and cupped her face, inspecting it carefully to make sure there wasn't any leftover jam on her cheeks. "– a specific answer."

Elspeth frowned back at Sherlock, obviously confused by the concept, and looked at Mycroft as if to ask if he knew what Sherlock was talking about. When her father got up from his seat to pay, Elspeth scrambled under the table – Mycroft shook his head – and darted after him, tugging on his trousers; Sherlock picked her up automatically. Leaving the café, Sherlock began to realise how difficult it was to carry Elspeth that way for a long period of time. His arms started to ache and Elspeth wriggled, desperate to see what was going on, even though Sherlock told her not to.

A man with a daughter around Elspeth's age strolled past, the girl on his shoulders, and Sherlock watched him go with a thoughtful frown.

Mycroft Holmes never thought he would see his brother walk around London with his daughter sitting on his shoulders.

* * *

><p>There were a lot of clothes in the shop. Sherlock supposed there had to be some logical order to them – sizes, or perhaps ages – but he was otherwise clueless as to where to begin, both relieved and irritated to see that Mycroft appeared just as puzzled as he felt. Elspeth was no help, holding onto Sherlock's hand and trying to swing off it because she was bored.<p>

"Where do you propose we begin?" Mycroft asked Sherlock.

"Find clothes Elspeth likes, I suppose," Sherlock replied. It seemed a good idea.

Elspeth really was in need of new clothes. The ones she was wearing was too small, digging into her and leaving small red marks on her skin. But neither Sherlock nor Mycroft had any idea what sort of clothes small girls wore.

They both looked down at Elspeth, as if hoping that she would help. She stared back up at them.

"What?"

"Don't say _what_, Elspeth, it's rude," Mycroft scolded.

"We're here to look at clothes," Sherlock told her. "You need to show us what you like."

Elspeth looked around the shop with a blank expression and wandered towards the closest rail, Sherlock following close behind. She was almost reluctant to look at first, barely touching any of the clothes on display, because when Elspeth lived with her mother, Catherine would get angry at her for touching things when she wasn't meant to. Elspeth didn't want Sherlock or Mycroft to get mad at her.

Sensing her reluctance, Sherlock knelt down beside Elspeth and put his arm around her. "Found anything you like?" he asked her gently.

"Erm . . . that." Elspeth pointed at one of the shirts in front of her. It was pretty and colourful and had flowers on it, and when Sherlock held one of them against her to see if it was the right size, Elspeth giggled. "I like it," she reminded him.

"I know, I know. Anything else?"

Grinning, Elspeth walked away and Sherlock straightened up, following her while she made her choices. She had a very particular taste in clothes.

"What about this one?" Sherlock held a dress up for her and Elspeth barely glanced at it.

"No."

Mycroft frowned. "What's wrong with it?"

"Don't like it," Elspeth muttered, turning her back on them and walking to a different rail, leaving Mycroft and Sherlock to exchange confused glances. Every time it felt like they were getting the hang of choosing clothes for her, Elspeth's tastes would change suddenly and she'd give them a look that suggested she thought they were idiots, which was a very peculiar expression to see on someone so young. It was a look she'd learned from Sherlock.

Mycroft and Sherlock ended up with armfuls of clothes each, and that was when Sherlock put his foot down, telling Elspeth that she couldn't pick out anything else until she tried everything they had on. Elspeth protested and – he didn't mean it, of course, because she couldn't go on wearing clothes that were too small – Sherlock threatened to put everything back where they had found it.

The girl at the changing rooms gave Sherlock an odd look when he approached her with Elspeth.

"This is a ladies changing room," she told him.

"Yes, I know," Sherlock replied. "My daughter needs to try on clothes and she's too young to go in on her own." The girl still looked uncertain, her eyes flickering to Mycroft, who was waiting patiently nearby. "I have no interest in the women in there, I can assure you. All I need to do is assist my daughter in trying on these clothes."

"Er . . . ok, you can go in," the girl said with a hint of reluctance in her voice, stepping to the side. "That one there is free." She pointed to the nearest stall. Sherlock didn't bother thanking her as he ushered Elspeth inside.

Sherlock thought they would be quick; all Elspeth needed to do was try on the clothes, decide if she liked them, and let him know if they fit or not. But Elspeth had other ideas.

"I want to show Uncle Mycroft!"

"Uncle Mycroft doesn't care about clothes," Sherlock said as he gently tugged on the dress she'd changed into, adjusting the skirt. "Does this feel tight?"

"No. I'll show Uncle Mycroft!"

Elspeth darted out before Sherlock could stop her.

"You look lovely," Mycroft assured her. He then had to use every synonym for lovely he could think of because Elspeth proceeded to show him every single piece of clothing she tried on, and she expected a positive response for each one. Sherlock tried to stay patient with her.

"My feet hurt," Elspeth complained when Sherlock helped her back into her own jeans and shirt.

"Let me see," Sherlock said. Elspeth extended her foot and Sherlock felt along her trainer, like his mother had done when he and Mycroft were young; he could feel her toes pushing up against the end. "Do these feel too tight?" Elspeth nodded. Sherlock frowned, wondering how Catherine could neglect their daughter like that. "We'll get some new shoes," he promised.

"All done?" Mycroft remarked. He was getting bored of waiting.

"We're getting shoes," Elspeth told him excitedly.

"Oh, are we?"

"They're far too small," Sherlock explained in a low voice, his hand on the back of Elspeth's head so he could guide her towards the shoes. "Catherine neglected to buy her new ones."

"Catherine Fisher neglected a lot of things, it seems," Mycroft muttered with a grim frown. Neither of the Holmes brothers claimed to be perfect – though if it they were compared as such, they wouldn't argue – but they both knew there was no excuse for neglecting a child, especially one as young as Elspeth.

Sherlock frowned back at his brother, making a noise of agreement and turned his attention to Elspeth, who had been listening to them with a frown of her own. She couldn't understand a lot of what they were saying but she heard her mother's name – Elspeth's grandparents always called her mother Catherine, and so did the nice woman who took her to the care home – and Sherlock and Mycroft didn't sound happy, so Elspeth knew it was bad. A lot of people got made with Elspeth's mother.

"Are you angry?" Elspeth asked timidly.

Sherlock had seen Catherine Fisher drunk on a few occasions, and she definitely wasn't pleasant. No wonder Elspeth looked so apprehensive when she realised Mycroft and Sherlock weren't happy.

"No, no," Sherlock assured her, crouching down to Elspeth's level and faking a smile. "We're not angry."

Elspeth didn't look convinced. "People get angry with my Mummy. Why?"

Sighing, Sherlock glanced up at Mycroft, who watched with a critical eye. He didn't offer an explanation or any help.

"Because sometimes adults do silly things," Sherlock explained to Elspeth. His smile was more genuine, comforting even, and he reached out to brush her unruly hair behind her ear. "And that makes other adults angry because we're not supposed to do silly things, especially not when we have you to look after." Sherlock poked Elspeth in the stomach and she giggled. "Do you understand?"

"I think so."

"Good."

"Interesting explanation," Mycroft remarked as he walked alongside Sherlock. Elspeth was on Sherlock's other side, clinging onto his hand and tugging because she was determined to get to the sparkly shoes she had seen across the room. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Would you rather I had told her the truth?"

Elspeth glanced up at Sherlock, then carried on walking. Sherlock and Mycroft lowered their voices.

"Of course not. I'm simply amazed at how you're handling being a father – even if you are buying new clothes too late," Mycroft added. Sherlock ignored the snide remark.

* * *

><p>Somehow Mycroft ended up with an armful of bags. He didn't keep hold of them for long; Anthea, being the diligent assistant that she was, quickly joined him and took the bags, promising Sherlock that they would be at his flat before he and Elspeth arrived home. She was a bit secretive, and was glued to her phone most of the time, but Mycroft couldn't argue that Anthea was a brilliant assistant. Probably the best he'd ever had.<p>

"There!" Elspeth cried loudly, bouncing up and down on Sherlock's shoulders as she pointed at Hamleys Toy Store, enticed by the colourful displays in the windows and the remote control helicopter whizzing about in the doorway. "I want to go in there!"

Mycroft sighed, but Sherlock couldn't see the harm in looking.

Taking Elspeth off his shoulders, Sherlock kept a firm grip on her hand to stop her from running off and let her lead him inside. Elspeth was bursting with excitement; she'd never seen so many amazing toys in once place before.

Even Sherlock was taken with the helicopter, watching the store assistant operate it with fascination.

"Look at all the bears!"

Elspeth managed to wriggle her hand from Sherlock's, disappearing into the crowd as she darted straight for the soft toy display, and Sherlock chased after her. He was fortunately tall enough to see her through the crowd but the shop was crowded and Elspeth was young, and Sherlock knew that she had a tendency to panic or get distraught.

Sherlock didn't have to walk for long; Elspeth had stopped by one of the shelves, clinging to it as she stood on her tiptoes and craned her neck back to look at the stuffed bears. Sherlock had never been enamoured by toy bears but Elspeth couldn't take her eyes off them, eventually turning and grinning up at Sherlock when she realised he was standing beside her.

"Look at that one." She pointed towards one of the bears, a particularly fluffy one with a blue ribbon around its neck. Sherlock picked it up.

He sighed. He just couldn't say no.

Realising what his brother was up to, Mycroft took Elspeth by the hand. "Come on, Elspeth, it's time to go," he said, ignoring her protests. Elspeth wore a sullen expression, glowering at him, and reluctantly let him take her away from the display.

"Can we come back?" Elspeth asked Mycroft as he took her outside.

"I suppose so."

"Tomorrow?"

"No, not tomorrow," Mycroft said. Huffing, Elspeth tugged on his sleeve and held her arms up, and Mycroft lifted her up the way he'd seen Sherlock do so many times. It was easier than he expected. After a few seconds of wriggling and adjusting herself, Elspeth hooked her arms around Mycroft's neck, snuggling her head into his shoulder. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant experience.

"Tired," she muttered. Mycroft smiled sympathetically. It had been a long day.

Sherlock emerged from the shop with two bags, holding only one of them out to Elspeth. She looked at him suspiciously.

"It's for you," Sherlock told her. Elspeth didn't take it. Reaching inside, Sherlock took out the stuffed bear Elspeth had been so enamoured with and held that out, grinning when Elspeth snatched it from him straight away. She held it carefully for a few seconds, then hugged it to her chest and grinned from ear to ear.

"Thank you," Elspeth said, still cuddling the bear. Even Mycroft had to admit that it was cute.

"Any particular reason?" he asked Sherlock.

"Do I need one?"

Mycroft shook his head. If Sherlock wanted to spoil Elspeth, then that was his business. He couldn't help but notice Sherlock had _two_ bags, however, and only one of them had been for her.

"The electric helicopters were fascinating," Mycroft commented, smirking when Sherlock's grip tightened on the carrier bag. "Don't you think you're a bit _old_ for toys now, Sherlock?"

"Shut up," Sherlock grumbled.

A week later, Mycroft returned to his office with a strange shaped bruise on his forehead, and when Anthea inquired how her boss received such an injury, he muttered something about his younger brother and a remote control helicopter. He refused to say anything else.

* * *

><p>Thank you Deductions-of-Sherlolly, WerewolfHybrid31, aorangeinboston, bellechat, LoverofWords22, nakari ash, Aimee, cowgirlie, fairytale city and Adrillian1497 for reviewing!<p>

There is definitely a Disney theme songwise . . . I love Disney.

Elspeth refusing to put her trousers on is based on my own experience with my cousin's son, but I was less successful in getting him to get dressed. Hamleys is THE best toy shop in London; I'm eighteen and I still love it. It's seriously cool. Plus I can totally imagine Sherlock getting a toy helicopter and dive bombing Mycroft with it when he gets annoying.

If you miss a bit of grown up Ellie and want to read some Elliarty AU goodness, please check out my new fic Darkness I Became; I'd love to hear what you all think of it!


	5. Chapter 5

_**5.**_

_I know you're lost and drifting, but the clouds are lifting. Don't give up you have somewhere to turn.  
>- Candle on The Water, Pete's Dragon<em>

Molly Hooper thought that Sherlock Holmes was quite possibly the most beautiful man she had ever met, and she was certain it was love at first sight – for her anyway. He had the sort of hair Molly wanted to run her fingers through, high cheekbones that gave his face the chiselled appearance of a statue, and cool blue eyes that Molly could just get _lost_ in. The first time they met, Sherlock had looked Molly up and down with clear disdain, interrogated her about her job and, when he apparently deemed her suitable, told her how he liked his tea as he strode through to the lab.

"Don't worry about that Holmes," her predecessor warned her. "He comes and goes, doesn't cause too much trouble – just let him get on with his work and don't ask too many questions, and you should get along fine."

Molly was content to simply observe Sherlock, watch him as he did whatever it was he happened to be doing. He never explained it to her even though they both knew she'd understand. Molly wasn't stupid.

But Sherlock wasn't the sort of man Molly expected to be a father.

* * *

><p>Molly happened to be in the cafeteria at the same time as Sherlock, who she had – coincidentally – followed down the corridor. She wasn't <em>really<em> following him because she happened to be going in that direction anyway, and it was just a happy accident that Sherlock was headed towards the cafeteria at the same time as Molly; that was what she kept telling herself.

Taking her purse out to buy the lunch she didn't have enough time to make in the morning, Molly glanced Sherlock's way like she did most days. He was so handsome and she was so . . . Molly wasn't sure how to describe herself. She wasn't plain, but she wasn't stunning or beautiful either, not the sort of woman who caught the attention of a man like Sherlock. Then again, he hadn't paid much attention to anyone.

But it wasn't Sherlock's good looks that caught her attention for once. Molly's eyes flickered down to his wallet, curious. She was too inquisitive for her own good sometimes.

Sherlock's wallet wasn't anything out of the ordinary; there were cards and money, and behind the clear square of plastic was a passport sized photo of a small girl. She had unruly hair, wide hazel eyes and a cheeky grin that reminded Molly a lot of Sherlock, who only got that grin when a particularly grisly murder corpse arrived in the morgue. He wasn't supposed to go anywhere near them, really, but Molly found it hard to say no to him.

Parents carried photos of their children in their wallets and purses. Molly's mother had a variety of them in her purse. But Sherlock Holmes, a father? It didn't seem right to Molly.

Frowning, she opened her mouth to ask Sherlock who the girl was, but he shut his wallet and strode out of the cafeteria with a takeaway coffee in one hand. Molly hadn't been there to make him one and he hadn't noticed her standing beside him in the queue because she was too timid to make her presence known. Sherlock was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice much anyway.

So Molly was left to frown and brood over her lunch, wondering who the girl was and why Sherlock was carrying around a photo of her.

* * *

><p>Her arms full of files and her face wearing a scowl, Molly awkwardly manoeuvred the door to the lab open. Unlike most people, Molly Hooper didn't mind the paperwork, but like a lot of people she had a terrible tendency of letting it all pile up. Seeing Sherlock at one of the desks, however, did lift her spirits.<p>

"Morning," Molly said brightly, putting the files down. Sherlock lifted his head and it wasn't much of an acknowledgement, but Molly's heart jolted even so. "Paperwork." She let out a dramatic sigh. "You don't mind, do you?"

Sherlock didn't answer.

Molly wasn't sure why she was asking him if he minded. It was her lab, after all. She grimaced to herself, picked the files up again and moved as close to Sherlock as she dared, giving them both enough room to spread their work out. He glanced up again, his eyes flickering towards her paperwork, and scribbled something down on the paper next to him. That was when Molly saw it.

It was as clear as day. Molly blinked several times, even rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm, to make sure that she wasn't imagining it. But there it was.

"Is – is that . . . nail varnish?" she asked.

It was bright pink nail varnish, and it was on Sherlock's fingers. Whoever had done it wasn't very good because it was messy and chipping away already, but all Molly could comprehend was that Sherlock Holmes was wearing bright pink nail varnish.

Maybe it was for an experiment. Or a case. He was a detective, wasn't he?

Looking down, Sherlock clenched his fists and muttered, "Elspeth did it."

Molly wondered if she had offended him. Sherlock never elaborated on who Elspeth was, and she didn't dare ask him.

* * *

><p>"Have you got any paper?"<p>

Lifting her head, Molly stared at the small girl in shock. The girl, who couldn't have been much older than three, was standing in the doorway of Molly's office, having somehow slipped past security and found her way there by herself. No, that wasn't possible.

"I'm sorry?"

"Paper," the girl repeated. "Plain, please." She was very polite and gave Molly such a bright smile that she was taken off guard.

"Y – yes," Molly stammered. She got up from her chair and took some paper from the printer, handing it to the little girl, who thanked her before darting back down the corridor. Molly watched the girl run into the lab and panicked; children couldn't be in there. There was technology and chemicals and danger everywhere.

Jogging down the corridor, Molly pushed open the door and hoped that she wasn't too late, that she could somehow find the little girl's parents.

"Hello, Molly," Sherlock said, sounding almost pleasant. Molly stared back at him.

"There was a girl . . ."

Sherlock frowned, looking over his shoulder, and Molly took a few steps forwards so she could see what he was staring at. The little girl was there, sitting on the floor behind him with the paper she'd taken from Molly and a packet of crayons.

"Where did you get that paper, Elspeth?" Sherlock asked. Elspeth looked up at Sherlock, then pointed at Molly. Sherlock turned to her. "When did she get that?"

"Just now," Molly said. She recognised Elspeth as the little girl from the picture, realising she must've been the one who painted Sherlock's nails, and found it was suddenly very difficult not to grin. "She came to my office and asked for paper. I didn't realise she was with you."

"Of course she's with me, she's my daughter," Sherlock said. _Daughter_. "Elspeth, you know you're not supposed to leave here without me."

"Sorry."

Molly couldn't get her head around it. "She's your daughter?" she spluttered. "You're a _father_?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied, sounding as if it was obvious. "Say hello to Molly, Elspeth."

"Hello Molly," Elspeth said without looking up from her drawing, reminding Molly very much of Sherlock. When she was finished, Elspeth held the paper up to Sherlock, who took it with a small smile and thanked her, telling her it was very good. He sounded genuine, the most genuine Molly had ever heard him sound. Tucking the drawing into his pocket, Sherlock returned to his work and Elspeth started a new drawing, leaving Molly to watch them both with an incredulous expression.

It made sense, she supposed. The photo, painted nails; Molly never expected Sherlock to be a father though.

Molly moved her work from her office to the lab. If anyone asked, she would've told them that there was more room and she could assist Sherlock in looking out for Elspeth, who had the tendency to get up and wander about. In reality, Molly wanted to watch Sherlock with his daughter. Too curious for her own good.

It wasn't long before Molly felt eyes watching her. She looked towards Sherlock but he was engrossed in his own work, so she turned to Elspeth, who was openly staring at her. It didn't bother Molly. Children were inquisitive.

Giving Elspeth a warm smile, Molly returned to her paperwork.

She stopped when a piece of paper was placed on her lap. Elspeth had drawn a rather unflattering portrait of Molly, but it had taken her a long time and a lot of effort had obviously been put into it, so Molly was still grateful.

"Is this for me?" she asked Elspeth, who nodded shyly. "Wow! Thank you so much, it's amazing!" Molly made sure to keep an enthusiastic tone. "I'm going to put it on my fridge at home."

Elspeth grinned. She kept staring at Molly.

"If she lifts her arms, she wants to be picked up," Sherlock said in a bored tone. He was used to Elspeth's habits. "I wouldn't recommend it though, she gets stroppy when you try to put her down again."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second," Molly said with a grin in Elspeth's direction. "Do you want to come up here with me?" Elspeth nodded again. "Come on then!"

Molly lifted Elspeth with ease. She'd had loads of practise babysitting her friend's children and Elspeth wasn't much older than them, but she did wriggle around a bit. Reaching out, Elspeth touched the end of Molly's braid and held it in her small hands, feeling the way the hair twisted and intertwined. Molly rarely wore her hair in braids because Sherlock had made a comment about how it made her look like a child, but even she needed a change sometimes.

"Pretty," Elspeth said softly. Molly smiled.

"Do you want me to braid your hair?"

Elspeth nodded so eagerly that she bounced in Molly's lap, gesturing for her to come close. "Daddy can't do it," Elspeth whispered, like it was a big secret. Sherlock heard her.

"I've never had reason to," he said defensively.

"You can't leave her hair down all the time," Molly said. "It's going to get messy and tangled. You know what kids are like. Elspeth, do you want to sit on the desk?" It would be easier if Elspeth was level with her. Ignoring Sherlock's warnings that Elspeth wouldn't be able to sit still, Molly sat Elspeth down on the desk in front of her and gently ran her fingers through Elspeth's hair. "Hold on, I'll get my bag."

It was strangely exciting to be doing Elspeth's hair. Maybe if she could show Sherlock that she was capable of a friendly relationship with his daughter, then he would pay a bit more attention to Molly.

"I need you to be very still while I brush your hair," Molly said to Elspeth. "Can you do that?"

Sherlock watched Molly. She was almost smiling, displaying more patience than he ever had while she brushed Elspeth's hair over and over, stopping only when it was completely smooth. She then parted Elspeth's hair into three equal parts and started to braid, her hands too quick for Sherlock to keep up.

"There you go," Molly said. She picked Elspeth up and carried her to the window so she could see her reflection, showing her the braid.

"Wow," Elspeth said. She played with her hair, staring at her reflection in amazement, and wrapped her skinny arms around Molly's neck so she could hug her as tight as possible. "Thank you!"

"Show me how to do that."

Molly blinked, turning around. "I'm s – sorry?" she stammered.

"Show me how to do that," Sherlock repeated, standing next to her and holding Elspeth's braid in one hand, inspecting it with a frown. "Please," he added, grimacing.

"Ok . . ."

She carried Elspeth back to the bench, put her down, and carefully undid the braid. Elspeth wailed.

"Ignore her," Sherlock said, noticing Molly hesitate.

"But she's –"

Molly didn't get a chance to finish her sentence before Sherlock swept past her, placing his hand under Elspeth's chin and lifting her head so he could look her in the eye. She wasn't really crying.

Even so, he felt the need to assure her. "Molly is showing me how to braid your hair," Sherlock said to her in a gentle tone. "So we don't have to keep coming to her for help. You want me to be able to do your hair, don't you?"

Elspeth nodded and Sherlock smiled down at her. Molly never thought that she would see such love and adoration in his eyes, and though she felt like she was intruding on a private moment, she couldn't look away. She wondered if Sherlock would ever look at _her_ like that.

The smile dropped the moment Sherlock looked up, and Molly fought the urge to supress a sigh.

"You need to brush her hair first," Molly told him. She held the brush out but Sherlock didn't take it straight away. "You're only going to learn if you do it yourself. Don't worry, I'll talk you through it."

Sherlock took the brush, bracing himself. He didn't like brushing Elspeth's hair because it was always so tangled and unruly, and Elspeth could never stay still long enough for him to make it completely smooth. But Molly was giving him an expectant look and Sherlock realised he had no choice but to brush his daughter's hair.

"Stay still," Sherlock warned Elspeth. She grinned at him over her shoulder.

It thankfully didn't take long to brush her hair; Molly had done most of the work earlier and Elspeth made the effort not to wriggle about _too_ much.

"Now part it three ways – make sure it's all even."

That was easier said than done. Sherlock struggled for a few seconds, glancing at Molly hopefully. She didn't help him.

"Now fold that bit over that one –"

"Like this?"

"Yeah, and then that goes over there – like that, you've got it! Now go back to the beginning, do it again . . ."

If anyone happened to walk past the lab and glance in, they would've seen the amusing sight of Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes bent over a bored looking Elspeth, braiding her hair over and over. It took Sherlock several attempts to get the hang of it but Molly was a patient teacher with a gentle voice, and she kept calm throughout the whole thing. They had to stop halfway through when Elspeth started to get restless.

"You're doing well," Molly assured Sherlock, the pair of them watching Elspeth run around the bench for no apparent reason. She moved to the side as Elspeth raced past her. "It's not easy to get the hang of it."

It didn't help that Elspeth was totally hyper but Molly didn't add that. She didn't like to speculate.

"She'll calm down eventually," Sherlock said. "Or –" he didn't finish his sentence; Elspeth tripped over her own feet, flying forwards and hitting her head against the corner of the bench. Molly flinched. "Or fall over."

Elspeth wailed loudly, genuine tears rolling down her cheeks, and Sherlock scooped her up in his arms, holding her close as he sat down. He spoke to her gently, kissing her head and smoothing her hair back.

"It _hurts_," Elspeth whimpered, clutching the front of Sherlock's shirt with one hand and her head with the other.

"Let me have a look." Sherlock carefully detached Elspeth's hand from her hair and inspected her forehead. It was red and beginning to bruise. "You're going to be fine," he assured her. Sherlock gently kissed her forehead and cuddled Elspeth until she calmed down.

"Hey," Molly said softly. "Do you want to get some chocolate? That'll make you feel better."

"Do you want to go with Molly to get chocolate?"

Elspeth hesitated, then nodded. Sherlock put her down on the ground and Molly extended her hand towards Elspeth, smiling when the young girl took it. Sherlock looked at Molly; she was surprised to see the gratitude in his eyes. She didn't say anything in fear of embarrassing herself, but gave him a timid smile and led Elspeth out of the lab.

Molly didn't see much of Elspeth over the next few weeks. Sherlock had given her one of Elspeth's drawings – a carefully drawn picture of Molly and Elspeth in the lab with the words **FANK YUU MOLLY **written across the top – and explained that his brother threatened to tell their mother if Sherlock carried on taking Elspeth to the lab.

"It's dangerous apparently," Sherlock said. He didn't bother hide the bitter tone.

"She did bump her head," Molly pointed out.

"She's always doing that – she doesn't look where she's going, falls over and makes a huge fuss about it so she can have undivided attention for a few minutes." Sherlock sounded less bitter. He sounded fond, in fact, and it made Molly smile to think that he was actually capable of caring for and loving someone. "Mycroft doesn't see my point of view, though. I think he does it on purpose."

"That's what brothers and sisters do. My brothers used to drive me crazy." Molly smiled to herself at the memory. "I never said anything though." She was too mild, too meek, always too _something_. "How are you getting along with Elspeth's hair?"

"She's complaining that I don't do it as well as you do."

Molly's lips twitched. "Really?"

"I need to use the morgue today – you have the Bentley corpse ready, don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah." Molly couldn't get over what Sherlock had said to her. _I don't do it as well as you do._ It was almost praise coming from him. "You . . . you can bring her in anytime you like – Elspeth, I mean. I don't mind doing her hair again."

If Sherlock heard what Molly said, he didn't say anything. He swept past her and into the morgue, leaving Molly to smile to herself.

* * *

><p>A week later, when Molly was working in her office, she felt a gentle tug on her sleeve and looked down to see a familiar face staring up at her.<p>

"Hello," she said to Elspeth. "What can I do for you?"

Grinning from ear to ear, Elspeth pulled on Molly's sleeve again and ran from the office to the lab, leaving a bemused Molly to pack away her work before following.

"Look, look!" Elspeth cried when Molly walked into the lab. "Look what I got!"

In Elspeth's hands was a small make up bag, pink and flowery and stereotypically girly, and she handed it to Molly. It was full of hairbands and pins and various shaped clips, and Molly grinned as she lifted Elspeth onto the bench.

"You got bored of her complaining, then?" she asked Sherlock.

He made a noise of agreement and Elspeth wriggled about, trying to get comfortable while Molly brushed her hair.

"She's been asking for you all week," Sherlock said.

"Daddy can't do it," Elspeth told Molly, making them both giggle. Sherlock scowled but he didn't say anything, and when Molly glanced his way, she was pleased to see the beginning of a grateful smile spread across his face. It wasn't the love and adoration that Molly hoped he would one day look at her with. It wasn't much really when she thought about it, but for Molly Hooper, it was enough.

* * *

><p>Thank you WerewolfHybrid31, EICochrane, Abby, AngryHobbit, Deductions-of-Sherlolly, Adrillian1497 and bellechat for reviewing!<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

_**6. **_

_Goodbye may seem forever. Farewell is like the end. But in my heart is a memory and there you'll always be.  
>- Goodbye May Seem Forever, The Fox and the Hound<em>

Elspeth asked a lot of questions about Catherine. She knew that her mother was away in rehab – a very special hospital for adults who weren't feeling well, Sherlock put it – and that she hadn't been a good mum to Elspeth, which was why she lived in the home for so long. But Elspeth always wanted to know when Catherine was coming home. She remembered the neglect, but she didn't _know_ it was neglect; in her childlike ignorance, Elspeth always thought that she'd done something wrong to make Catherine upset or angry. Elspeth thought it was normal to be a bit hungry or wear clothes that were tight.

Sherlock wanted to tell Elspeth that Catherine would be home soon, and that she would be a kind and loving mother who took care of her like she was supposed to, but he couldn't. He couldn't lie, not even to Elspeth.

"When's Mummy coming home?" Elspeth asked again that morning, like she did most mornings.

"I don't know," Sherlock answered truthfully. He poured her cereal and put the bowl in front of her, handing Elspeth a spoon before she grabbed a handful like she had done the previous morning. "What do you want to do today?"

"Dunno."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Elspeth, it's disgusting."

Elspeth responded by opening her mouth and showing Sherlock a mouthful of chewed up cereal, milk dribbling on the front of her pyjama shirt. Sherlock rolled his eyes. He had no idea where her terrible manners had come from recently, but he wasn't eager to find out; he just hoped she would grow out of it. Soon.

"What do you want to do today?"

"Dunno," Elspeth said again around a mouthful of food, grinning when Sherlock gave her a stern look. She swallowed her cereal. "Dunno," she repeated for a third time.

"I don't know," Sherlock corrected, sounding distinctly like his older brother. The thought made him grimace. "_Dunno_ isn't a word."

"Dunno, dunno, dunno."

"You are going to be the death of me," Sherlock muttered. He bent down and kissed the top of Elspeth's head when he passed even so, smiling fondly at her. They both looked up at the sound of someone knocking on the door; Sherlock frowned, not expecting any guests, and Elspeth looked at her father.

"Door," Elspeth said. Sherlock gave her a sideways look. "Can I answer it?"

"No. Eat your breakfast."

Elspeth huffed and returned her attention to her soggy bowl of cereal, and Sherlock walked across the room to open the front door. He froze.

It wasn't often that Sherlock Holmes was lost for words, but seeing Catherine Fisher at his front door left him speechless as he took in her features; her small eyes, the slope of her nose, her strange cheekbones that weren't defined, but not rounded either. Sherlock did not believe in the social construct of beauty, but if he were to put his beliefs aside, he would have to agree that Catherine was not an unattractive woman.

It wasn't a mutual attraction that pushed Sherlock towards sleeping with her. It had been a combination of alcohol and morbid curiosity; Sebastian Wilkes had teased him for weeks beforehand about being so oblivious to Catherine's feelings towards him.

"I thought I would find you here," Catherine said with a bright smile. She looked healthy. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining, and there wasn't a hint of alcohol on her breath as she spoke. "Took a while, admittedly, but hey – I'm here!"

Sherlock frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see my daughter, of course!" Catherine tried to peer over Sherlock's shoulder, but he was considerably taller than her so it proved more difficult than she expected. "Has she settled in alright? What about you? Adjusting to being a father?"

Giving her a suspicious look, Sherlock nodded. He didn't trust Catherine at all.

"You went to Mycroft, no doubt," he said.

"Yeah, he was really reluctant to give me your address though." Catherine sounded surprised, then gave Sherlock a devious grin. "I got it out of him eventually though."

Sherlock scowled, silently cursing his brother in annoyance. "I suppose you want to come in," he said through gritted teeth.

"No, I want to stand on your doorway all morning," Catherine snapped back. Sherlock had been wondering how long it would take for her to lose her patience; she'd never had a particularly temperament. Even so, he took a reluctant step to the side and let her in, closing the door behind him so loud that Elspeth looked up from her cereal.

"Mummy!"

"There's my special girl!" Catherine gushed, crossing the room and sweeping Elspeth into her arms. Sherlock scowled. "What's daddy been feeding you, huh? You're getting heavy!" Elspeth squealed with laughter when Catherine tickled her sides, clinging to her mother with her arms around her neck and her legs hooked round Catherine's waist, and though Sherlock didn't care very much for the mother of his child, he was pleased to see the wide grin spread across Elspeth's face.

"I missed you," Elspeth told Catherine, pulling away long enough to look her mother in the eyes. It had been a long time since they'd seen each other, and Elspeth took a few seconds to take in Catherine's features, wearing a small frown that reminded Catherine of Sherlock.

"I missed you too, baby. Lots and lots and lots!"

Elspeth laughed again, Catherine pressing sloppy kisses to her daughter's cheek, and Sherlock cleared his throat. "Elspeth," he said sternly. "Breakfast."

"Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt," Catherine said, not sounding apologetic at all. "Come on, you, finish your breakfast."

"Planning on staying long?" Sherlock asked Catherine, the pair watching Elspeth shovel cereal in her mouth like someone might snatch it from her. "Elspeth, slow down. You're going to make yourself ill."

Catherine smiled. "You're good with her."

_Better than you were,_ Sherlock thought. "I've had some practise," he said.

Her smile turned wry and Catherine looked up at Sherlock, noticing how he determinedly refused to look at her. "I'm not here to take her away from you," Catherine said in a quiet voice. "But I want to be part of her life, Sherlock – I'm her mother! I have _rights_ –"

"That you gave up when you placed her in a children's home," Sherlock interrupted. He didn't have any patience for Catherine's self-pity.

"You didn't even want anything to do with her when she was born."

"Finished!" Elspeth announced, breaking the intense staring match that had begun between Sherlock and Catherine, neither of whom were ready to admit that they were in the wrong.

Tearing his eyes from Catherine, Sherlock smiled down at Elspeth and lifted her into his arms when she reached for him. It felt very natural to have her perched on his hip while he took her bowl to the sink, and Elspeth helped Sherlock keep steady; it was hard to lose his temper when his daughter was playing with the ends of his hair.

Catherine watched Sherlock and Elspeth with envy, amazed to see him behave as if he had been a full time parent for years. He put their daughter down on the floor.

"Go get dressed," Sherlock said to Elspeth, who looked disappointed at Sherlock not holding her anymore. She didn't move. "If you get dressed quick enough, we can go to the park."

"Mummy too?"

Sherlock looked at Catherine, but her eyes were on Elspeth. "Of course," she promised.

Elspeth beamed and scampered down the hall to her bedroom, running back a few seconds later to tug on Catherine's hand. Sherlock rolled his eyes and waited impatiently, listening to Elspeth's excited chatter while she showed her mother her new room and got dressed. He didn't know what he expected. Elspeth was happy to see Catherine.

"She's getting dressed now," Catherine said as she walked back into the kitchen, her cheeks pink. "You got her a lot of new clothes."

"Hers were too small for her," Sherlock said distractedly, rifling through the fridge because he knew that Elspeth was bound to get hungry and tired during the day, and it was a hassle getting her to behave in a café if they did stop for lunch. Giving her snacks throughout the day kept Elspeth content.

He hadn't been trying to upset Catherine, but when he turned around, he saw her face crumple. Sherlock sincerely hoped that she wasn't going to cry.

"Elspeth doesn't like carrot sticks," she said instead.

Sherlock frowned back. "Yes, she does," he argued.

"No, she's never liked them."

Elspeth darted back into the kitchen, washed and dressed, and Sherlock decided to prove a point by offering her a carrot stick. Thanking him, Elspeth accepted the offering and took a large bite from it as she fetched her shoes from by the front door. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at Catherine as if to say _see_?

His gloating was interrupted by a gentle tug on his trousers; Sherlock looked down to see Elspeth standing next to him with her laces undone.

With Elspeth's laces tied and her coat zipped up, they were ready for the park; Elspeth insisted on walking between Sherlock and Catherine so she could hold both of their hands. The three made a strange looking family; several people did a double take when they walked past. Sherlock's face barely veiled his underlying anger while Catherine's lips were pressed together in a tight line as her eyes flickered towards Sherlock, aware that he didn't want her there.

But Elspeth was her daughter as well and Catherine Fisher had rights, so to Hell with Sherlock if he thought he was going to stop her from seeing Elspeth before . . . well, Catherine decided that she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

The park was already filled with small children the same age as Elspeth, and she eagerly dragged her parents along as she raced towards the playground.

"Her favourite are the monkey bars," Catherine said to Sherlock, oozing with confidence. Sherlock didn't say anything because he knew she was wrong, and sure enough, Elspeth tore across the playground and flung herself at one of the swings, declaring that they were her favourite. ". . . Oh."

"Daddy, push me!" Elspeth yelled, struggling to get on the swing.

Sherlock lifted her in the air, smiling when she squealed, and helped Elspeth into the age appropriate swing with soft restraints around it so she wouldn't fall out. Elspeth swung her legs.

"Are you holding on?" Sherlock asked as he moved behind her.

"Yeah!"

Catherine watched Sherlock push Elspeth on the swings, her stomach twisting. That was two things she'd remembered incorrectly about her daughter. Or had she remembered them at all? Her parents did most of the work while Catherine was in her drunken state because she never wanted much to do with her daughter; she was too young to understand that mummy wanted to be left alone, too much like Sherlock for Catherine to bear.

She felt guilty. Of _course_ she felt guilty. Catherine had discussed her feelings of guilt at great length with her psychiatrist and agreed it was a contributing factor towards her alcoholism, but not even the greatest psychiatrist in the world could've helped Catherine feel better at that point.

"Look at me, Mummy! Look!" Elspeth cried, laughing. Catherine smiled.

"Wow, Elspeth, you're flying!"

After a while, Catherine took over pushing Elspeth on the swing while Sherlock took a phone call, never taking his eyes off the pair. He didn't trust Catherine.

Elspeth got bored of the swings, running across the playground to join a few other girls her age on the monkey bars. Sherlock and Catherine sat on a bench together, side by side, and pointedly ignored each other for several minutes under the pretence that they were watching Elspeth play.

"Who is he?" Sherlock asked, breaking the silence.

Catherine snorted loudly. "I should've known," she muttered bitterly. "How'd you work it out, then?"

"The ring on your finger is new and expensive, definitely not the sort your parents would've left you in their will. Not to mention you seem to have a pathological need for the intimacy of a relationship." Sherlock knew that the ring wasn't an engagement ring; it was on the wrong hand, for starters, and he couldn't imagine anyone who would willingly bind themselves to Catherine through marriage. "So, who is he?"

Bristling at the implication that she couldn't be on her own, Catherine replied, "His name is Marco. I met him through a friend."

"A friend in rehab?"

"No," Catherine snapped back. "Jesus, Sherlock, what sort of idiot do you take me for?"

"Well –"

"You're not supposed to answer that." There was a pause before Catherine spoke again. "He wants me to go back to Italy with him, meet his family . . . start a new life."

"Without Elspeth," Sherlock said quietly. His eyes never wavered from their daughter as he tried to consider what effect Catherine's departure would have on her, but after a moment, he looked at Catherine. There was no emotion behind his gaze. "How long?"

"I don't know. Six months, maybe a year." Catherine looked down at her shoes so she wouldn't have to face Sherlock's hard stare, her cheeks burning with guilt and humiliation as she realised she felt like a small child explaining her mistake to an adult. "I didn't – I don't want to hurt anyone, especially not Elspeth."

"I would say it's a little late for that, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, stop acting like father of the year, would you?" Catherine spluttered. Her hands were shaking and she clenched them into fists as she tried to breathe, remembering everything the psychiatrist had taught her. "If it hasn't escaped your notice, I was _there_ for the first few years of her life – I was _there_, Sherlock, and where were you?"

"You were present in her life, but you didn't take any interest in her," Sherlock corrected.

"Post natal depression is _hard_, Sherlock, you don't know what it's like to hold your daughter and not love her like you're supposed to." She regretted her words the second they left her mouth, but only because she realised that she had hurt Sherlock; he _did_ know what that was like. He hadn't even held Elspeth when she was born. Catherine sighed. "We really messed this up, didn't we?"

Sherlock stiffened, then nodded. They'd made a complete mess of the entire situation. They had been too young to have a child; they never should've even slept together. But neither of them had anticipated a child or the effect she would have on both of their lives, and despite everything, Sherlock and Catherine adored Elspeth. They had just made a mess of it.

"Are you going to tell her," Sherlock began slowly. "or shall I?"

Catherine pressed her lips together. Asking Sherlock was the easy way out – the coward's way out. "I'll tell her," she murmured. "I have to."

"When are you leaving?"

"Tonight."

Sherlock gave Catherine a tight, sarcastic smile. "One last day with her before you leave," he muttered.

"I want her to have at least _one_ happy memory with me," Catherine said. She knew that Elspeth's memories of her weren't great because Catherine had always been drunk and tired and irritable. It wasn't how she wanted her daughter to remember her. "You'll look after her, though, won't you? When I'm gone?"

"I've been looking after her for a while now," Sherlock pointed out. Catherine rolled her eyes.

"You're so freakin' pedantic, you know that? You're worse than Mycroft."

"No one is worse than Mycroft," Sherlock said with an unattractive grimace, making Catherine smile to herself. She had almost forgotten how the Holmes brothers didn't get along, and she wondered how Mycroft had reacted to Elspeth. Catherine wished she had been there, if only to see the look on Mycroft's face. "When are you going to tell her?"

Catherine sighed. "You're loving this, aren't you? Oh, look at Catherine, she's messed up again. It's not my fault, Sherlock."

"Then whose fault is it?" Sherlock asked. For once, Catherine didn't have an answer.

* * *

><p>Elspeth felt like she was having the best day ever.<p>

She got to go to the park with her parents, and they all had lunch together in a little café down the road, and now Catherine had stayed for dinner; Elspeth loved spending time with Catherine, especially since she was being a lot nicer. She let Elspeth sit on her lap and hugged her and kissed her, telling Elspeth how much she loved her.

"I'm going to miss you," Catherine murmured, carrying Elspeth from the kitchen to the living room. She held her daughter on her lap and hugged her close, aware of Sherlock's eyes burning into the back of her head. "I'm going to miss you so, so much."

Elspeth frowned. "Where are you going?" she asked quietly.

"I'm going away."

"Where?" Elspeth clung to Catherine's sleeve, like she thought it would stop her mother from leaving.

"I'm going to a country called Italy – do you know where that is?" Catherine looked down at Elspeth, who shook her head, still holding onto her mother with desperation. "Well, it's a nice, hot country with lots of old buildings and pizza and pasta, and I'm going there with a . . . friend of mine."

Elspeth's eyes filled with tears and Sherlock watched them both carefully, ready to comfort his daughter if he needed to. Catherine stroked Elspeth's hair from out of her face.

"I'm going for a long time, baby girl," she continued. "So I won't be able to see you for a while."

"But . . ." Elspeth's voice trailed off. "But . . ." she couldn't comprehend what Catherine was telling her, unable to vocalise her confusion. "You just came back," she whimpered.

"I came back to say goodbye to you. I love you, Elspeth, and sometimes you have to say goodbye to people you love." There were tears in Catherine's eyes and she slowly loosened her arms around Elspeth, glancing up at the clock; it was nearly time for her to leave. "But no matter what, you're still my little girl and even though I'm not here, I'm still your mum."

"Don't go," Elspeth begged. She wailed when Catherine handed her to Sherlock, holding onto Catherine's sleeve with as much strength as she could muster. "_Mummy_!" she screamed as she fought against Sherlock, wriggling about in his arms and trying to get free from his grip, watching Catherine leave the room. "Mummy, come back! _Come back_!" Elspeth was crying so much that she could barely breathe and Catherine gave her a teary eyed smile before shutting the front door behind her, leaving Elspeth to cry in her father's arms.

Sherlock pressed his lips together, struggling not to be affected by Elspeth's hysterical state, and cradled his daughter against his chest even though she tried to push him off. He stroked her hair, kissed the top of her head, murmured that everything was going to be alright . . . all the things he thought would make her feel better.

Elspeth hiccupped, her breaths short and erratic, and Sherlock sat down on the sofa with her on his lap.

"It's alright," Sherlock told her. "It's alright, everything is going to be alright . . ." his voice trailed off as Elspeth sobbed again, burying her face into his chest, and Sherlock closed his eyes. "I'm here, Elspeth, I'm not going anywhere."

But it wasn't enough. No matter what Sherlock said to Elspeth, it wasn't enough to calm her down or make her feel any better, and as he cradled her in his lap, Sherlock felt the most sickening feeling he'd ever experienced. He felt like he had failed.

* * *

><p>Thank you WerewolfHybrid31, Deductions-of-Sherlolly, LoverofWords22, Adrillian1497, ScissorLuv143, bellechat and ameerawrites for reviewing!<p>

First week of Uni is done, and I am loving it.

Don't forget _Darkness I Became _if you fancy lots of AU Elliarty goodness with a slow building relationship and character development; I'd love to hear what you guys think!


	7. Chapter 7

_**7.**_

_And isn't this a crime? We know by now that time knows how to fly.  
>- Goodbye So Soon, The Great Mouse Detective<em>

Four years old.

Sherlock couldn't wrap his head around it; Elspeth was four years old already. How did that happen? He'd been monitoring her progress carefully because the growth and development of small children had always fascinated him, but he'd never been close enough to a child to keep an accurate record. But the months had flown by and now he was in a shop, staring at party decorations with a blank expression while Elspeth fidgeted in the trolley, trying to clamber out of the seat designed specifically for children her age.

He had no idea where to begin. The party – if you could call it that; Sherlock had only invited his parents and Mycroft because Elspeth didn't attend school or nursery, so there were no children to ask to come over – was only a few days away, and Sherlock had left it to the last minute to prepare everything. He'd brought Elspeth's presents in a couple of hours, demanding the help of a poor, startled looking shop assistant. Molly had looked after Elspeth that day.

Elspeth let out a squawk of protest, still fighting against the restraints, and Sherlock turned, absent mindedly picking her up and keeping one hand on the trolley so it didn't roll away.

"Ooh," Elspeth said, her attention caught by the bright colours. "Pretty."

"Mmm," Sherlock hummed. "What should we get?" he asked, playfully bouncing Elspeth up and down on his hip, making her giggle. She looked at the decorations in front of her with a serious expression, thinking.

"Everything!" she decided, flinging her arms out. Sherlock moved out of the way before she could hit him on the head.

"We can't get everything," he told her.

Elspeth huffed. "_Please_," she begged, wrapping her arms around Sherlock's neck and clinging onto him, burying her face into his shoulder. "Please, Daddy, please!" Elspeth lifted her head, batted her eyelashes, and pouted. Her bottom lip trembled. Sherlock glared down at her; she always made it hard to say no to her.

"No," Sherlock said, stern as he could manage. "We can't get everything, you can pick a _few_ things."

Giving him a suspicious, narrow eyed glare, Elspeth asked, "How much is a _few_?"

Sherlock frowned, considering his words, and said, "I'll tell you when to stop."

Holding Elspeth on his hip, Sherlock picked up the various decorations that she pointed at. Banners, streamers, balloons, even those ridiculous paper plates and cups with drawings of princesses on them. Sherlock drew the line when she asked for a pack of silly, pointed party hats; as amusing as it would've been to see Mycroft wear one, he wasn't willing to make a fool of himself. Elspeth pouted, threatening to make a scene, but decided against it when Sherlock threatened to cancel the party all together.

"Ooh, looks like someone's having a party," the cashier commented with a wide grin in Elspeth's direction, and she beamed up at the older woman.

"It's my birthday soon," she announced. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

The cashier gave Sherlock an understanding smile. "And how old are you going to be?"

"Four!"

Elspeth babbled excitedly all the way home and Sherlock half listened to her, distracted by his own thoughts. He just hoped that the party went well.

* * *

><p>Sherlock didn't sleep the night before Elspeth's birthday, which he expected, and he was wide awake when Elspeth emerged from her room. She'd tried to stay up late the previous night because she thought that being four entitled her to a later bedtime, but failed miserably and ended up having to be carried to bed by Sherlock.<p>

Her eyes shining, Elspeth darted down the corridor and into the living room, scrambling onto the sofa so she could throw herself onto Sherlock's lap.

"Good morning," he said with a pleasant smile, smoothing her wild hair back and hugging her to his chest. Elspeth hooked her arms around his neck and gave him a wide, toothy grin that spread from ear to ear. "What are you doing up so early? Is it a special day?" Sherlock dug his fingers into Elspeth's side and she squealed with laughter when he tickled her.

"It's my birthday!" Elspeth whispered, like it was a big secret.

"Yes, it is," Sherlock said. His smile grew wider and he hugged her even closer as he kissed her forehead, so astounded but happy that his daughter was four years old. Sherlock pressed another kiss to her forehead, then both her cheeks, even the tip of her nose. Elspeth giggled. "Happy birthday."

Elspeth laughed again and, with her arms still around his neck, stood up on Sherlock's lap, craning her neck as she looked around the room. Sherlock knew what she was looking for but waited patiently, wondering if she would work it out herself. He had hidden the presents rather well, if he did say so himself, so he would be impressed if Elspeth did find them.

Her eyes widened. Grinning, Elspeth leapt off Sherlock's lap and headed straight for the cupboards in the kitchen. He tried not to laugh; she was _way_ off.

"What are you looking for?"

Her voice came out muffled because Elspeth's head still stuck in the cupboard. "My presents," she called. "Where are they?"

Sherlock didn't answer. He watched Elspeth continue to dig through the cupboard, intervening when she tried to climb in. He knew that would end in disaster and tending to any injury that was sure to follow was not how Sherlock wanted to spend the morning of Elspeth's birthday.

The first birthday she was spending with him, he realised. Sherlock supposed that was somewhat significant.

"Oh no you don't," Sherlock said, grabbing Elspeth by the waist and pulling her backwards, picking her up when she started to complain. "You are such a monkey."

Elspeth laughed and started to make monkey noises, gibbering as she wriggled about in Sherlock's arms. "Presents," she said to him. "Where are my presents? Where are they _please_?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Sherlock teased. He carried Elspeth back through to the kitchen, putting her on the sofa so he could fetch her presents from his bedroom, the only room she wasn't allowed to go in. He had to make a couple of trips because he'd brought her so many, and on reflection, Sherlock realised he may have spoiled Elspeth a bit. But it was her first birthday with him, and he wanted to make it special – he'd even gone through all the trouble of making sure that the decorations were up on the wall before she woke up. "Happy birthday, Elspeth," he said, kissing the top of her head.

Elspeth made quick work of the presents, tearing the wrapping paper away with wild abundance and exclaiming at every gift. She'd never had so many presents in her whole life.

Sherlock, perching on the arm of the sofa, watched Elspeth with a smile of his own. He – with the assistance of the girl in the shop – had put a lot of thought into her presents, especially since he'd been clueless about what to buy for a four year old girl. She took a particular liking to the art set he had brought her. The girl in the shop had assured him that a lot of kids liked it because it came with easy to use paints and a wide variety of coloured crayons, and Sherlock made sure to buy Elspeth her own sketchpad so she would stop drawing on his paperwork.

"Thank you!" Elspeth said, crashing into Sherlock's side when she ran across the sofa and wrapping her arms around him for a few seconds, hastily returning to her presents. She was so excited that she didn't know where to begin, trying to use everything at once. She looked up. "I'm hungry."

"That's because you keep running around," Sherlock told her. "Come and have breakfast." Elspeth didn't move, reluctant to leave the gifts behind. "Elspeth, your presents will still be there. It's time for breakfast."

It took a few more minutes to coax Elspeth away from her presents. She ate her breakfast quickly and Sherlock ushered her into the bathroom before she could get anywhere near her gifts again, knowing it wouldn't be long until his parents and Mycroft arrived. Sherlock didn't want a repeat of Elspeth running around in her knickers.

"I don't want to wear a dress," Elspeth grumbled, letting Sherlock wrestle it on her. It was pretty and expensive, and Sherlock knew that she probably wouldn't ever wear it again, but it was nice for a special occasion like this.

"You have to wear one."

"Why?"

"Because adults like it," Sherlock murmured distractedly, focusing on the braid Molly had once shown him how to do. Elspeth wriggled.

"_Why_?"

Sherlock paused. "I don't know. We'll ask one."

Elspeth looked rather pretty in her dress and she stopped squirming for a minute to admire herself in the mirror, then hurtled down the corridor so she could carry on playing. Sherlock wondered why he had bothered making the effort when he knew she was only going to get in a mess later on.

He checked the clock, realising he ought to get dressed himself. Wanda was constantly nagging her youngest son about lounging about in his pyjamas all day.

"They're here!" Elspeth shouted while Sherlock was buttoning his shirt. "Can I answer the door?"

"It's unlocked," Sherlock called back. Elspeth grinned, reaching up and opening the door for her grandparents and Mycroft.

"Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to you!" Wanda sung, picking Elspeth up and pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek. She wiped her lipstick off Elspeth's cheek with her thumb. "Four years old already! You're getting big now, Elspeth!"

"Absolutely huge," Timothy agreed. "Do I get a hug from my very grown up granddaughter?"

Timothy hugged Elspeth, making her laugh by pressing several kisses to her cheek, and Sherlock exchanged reluctant pleasantries with his mother and Mycroft. His brother sneered at the decorations.

"I take it they were Elspeth's choice?"

"Don't be mean, Mike, Sherlock make a wonderful effort," Wanda scolded. "Come on, Elspeth, darling. Your granddad and I have got lots of lovely presents for you – and don't you look absolutely beautiful in your new dress? Like a little princess, right, dear?"

"Just like a princess," her husband echoed.

Wanda and Timothy predictably spoiled Elspeth rotten with their gifts as well, but Mycroft's present overshadowed them all. He had brought his niece a large, handmade doll's house with sets of furniture for each room and matching dolls that were meant to be a family of four. Mycroft Holmes looked rather smug when Elspeth unwrapped his present, and Sherlock resented him for it.

"You really shouldn't have gone to so much trouble," Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

"It was no trouble, dear brother," Mycroft replied, smirking.

It was Sherlock, however, who got the last laugh. Elspeth was initially pleased with her doll's house, setting up the furniture and putting the dolls away in the various rooms, but she then got bored of it and returned to the art set Sherlock had given her. Mycroft stopped smirking.

"I can't believe she's four already," Wanda gushed, sitting on the sofa with her husband. "How time flies by . . . oh! Don't forget the cards! Timothy, where's our card?"

"Right here," Timothy said. He handed the card to Wanda, who gave it to Elspeth. She looked at it with disinterest, putting it to one side so she could continue drawing. Sherlock opened it for her.

"What do you say, Elspeth?"

"Thank you," Elspeth said promptly. She hadn't even been listening but that was usually the correct response when she was asked that question. She didn't even look up.

"Mike, don't forget your card," Wanda said.

"There's a special present in it just for you, Elspeth," Timothy added. Elspeth's head shot up then, and this time she took the card, opening it herself with great care. She couldn't imagine what present would be inside. She was sorely disappointed when she found – what looked like – a piece of paper.

"What's this?" Elspeth asked, holding it up to Mycroft.

"It's a cheque," he explained. Sherlock took the cheque from Elspeth before she could rip or lose it, raising his eyebrows when he saw the amount Mycroft had written. "Your father can open a bank account for you and put that in, so when you're older, you'll have some money of your own."

"Oh." Elspeth screwed her nose up. "I'd rather have money."

Sherlock smirked, then remembered that his mother was present. "Elspeth," he said, trying to sound stern. "It's a very thoughtful gift. Say thank you to your uncle."

"Thank you, uncle Mycroft," Elspeth said, sounding about as sincere as she felt.

"Did you intend on adding so many zeroes, or are you succumbing to the woes of middle age?" Sherlock asked Mycroft, tucking the cheque into his pocket and making a mental note to take it to the bank the next day. Opening a bank account for Elspeth didn't seem like such a bad idea.

"I thought it would be a fitting gift," Mycroft said, his lips twitching into a dry smile as he acknowledged Sherlock's criticism of his age. "It is the first birthday she has spent with us, after all."

"I think it's lovely," Wanda said. "You really should start a savings account for Elspeth, Sherlock, give her something to look forwards to when she's eighteen." That was another fourteen years to go, but it was never too early to start thinking ahead. "It'll be handy for University and whatnot, don't you think, Timothy?"

"If she decides to go," Timothy said. Wanda gave him a scandalised look.

"Of _course_ she'll go, she's a bright girl for her age already. It wouldn't surprise me if she went to Oxford or Cambridge."

"Try not to put too much pressure on her, mother, we don't want Elspeth to suffer a complex before she's five," Sherlock said. His daughter turning four was hard enough to wrap his head around. "I'll have to enrol her in a school before we can even consider University." School. That was an intimidating thought. Sherlock had despised school when he was young, but that didn't mean Elspeth would, of course.

It was hard to imagine Elspeth going to school. Sherlock would have free days again, the flat would be empty five days a week, she'd make friends and meet new people . . . it was all rather daunting.

Not that Sherlock would ever admit it.

The conversation immediately turned to about schools, and the various places of education in London. Wanda thought back to when Mycroft and Sherlock went to school, much to the brother's chagrin, and Timothy interjected occasionally with his own comment or account. Sherlock watched Elspeth play.

"Perhaps it's time for you to get the c-a-k-e –" Timothy spelled the word so he wouldn't attract Elspeth's attention. "– Sherlock."

"Oh, I'll get the lights!" Wanda announced, jumping to the feet.

Elspeth looked up, giving them all a suspicious glower when Wanda turned the lights off, but her face lit up the second she saw Sherlock carrying the cake through from the kitchen, all of the adults engaging in an off-key chorus of 'Happy Birthday'.

"Blow out the candles and make a wish," Sherlock said to Elspeth, even though he didn't believe in such trivial superstitions. With a large puff, Elspeth managed to blow out the four candles in one go, looking pleased with herself when everyone cheered.

"Can I cut it?" she asked.

"No."

"But –"

"No," Sherlock repeated. Elspeth didn't ask again.

Just as he predicted, Elspeth covered her face, hands and dress in cake. Sherlock suspected that she'd used the latter to wipe her hands despite Wanda offering her a napkin, but he didn't say anything. Clothes could be washed.

The excitement died down after a few games, and when Elspeth started to show signs of fatigue, Wanda and Timothy announced that they were leaving. Mycroft decided to go with them.

Elspeth said goodbye to both her grandparents, then wrapped her arms around Mycroft's legs and latched on, refusing to let go until he crouched down to her level with the intent of prying her away from him. Her hands were still very sticky but Elspeth didn't care, putting them either side of Mycroft's face and patting his cheeks several times so he was sticky as well. Kissing his nose with a loud _mwah_, Elspeth grinned up at Mycroft.

"Bye, uncle Mycroft! Thank you for my doll's house!"

Sherlock laughed, and even Wanda had a hard time hiding her amusement when Mycroft straightened up. It was hard for one to look dignified when they had bits of cake plastered to their cheeks, courtesy of a small child, and Mycroft ignored the stifled laughter of his family as he took his handkerchief from his pocket.

"Goodbye, Elspeth," he said stiffly.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, Sherlock and Elspeth curled up on the sofa together in their pyjamas. She was hugging the bear he'd brought from Hamleys for her to her chest, half asleep in Sherlock's lap, and he absently mindedly stroked her hair while he watched the news. The flat was quiet after that afternoon's celebrations, the decorations looking considerably less impressive in the dim light of the evening.<p>

"Did you have a good day?" Sherlock asked Elspeth.

"Yeah," she said around her yawn, snuggling closer to him. "It was the best birthday ever."

Sherlock smiled. Next year would be better, he supposed, as Elspeth would have friends to invite. But then he'd have to go through the tedious planning and buying presents and decorating all over again, and the thought made Sherlock grimace to himself. Perhaps he would limit the guest list to two or three of Elspeth's friends.

The doll's house Mycroft had brought her was in Elspeth's bedroom, and Sherlock scowled when he thought about it. It was typical of Mycroft to try and outdo Sherlock.

"Do you have a favourite present?"

Elspeth was quiet for a few seconds, and Sherlock wondered if she had fallen asleep. He could see the reflection of the TV in her eyes, though, and realised that she was only thinking. Eventually, Elspeth nodded.

Unable to stop himself, Sherlock blurted out, "Do you want to tell me what it is?"

"My art set," Elspeth mumbled tiredly, yawning again. "That's my favourite."

The art set that Sherlock had brought her. He knew it was childish but he couldn't help but feel smug about that, his arms tightening around Elspeth when he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He hadn't realised that time went by so quickly, but Sherlock intended on making every second of his time with Elspeth count.

* * *

><p>Thank you ScissorLuv143, EICochrane, LoverofWords22, dancetillidrop, Adrillian1497, Marlene, Guest, Music of The Light, WerewolfHybrid31 and bellechat for reviewing!<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

_**8.**_

_And the only thing we know is things don't always go the way we planned.  
>- We Are One, The Lion King: Simba's Pride<em>

Mycroft's birthday was not particularly important in Sherlock's opinion, and if his mother hadn't rung to remind him, Sherlock probably would've forgotten all about it. He planned on totally ignoring it, however, but Elspeth somehow overheard the conversation and decided that her uncle should have a great birthday, just like she did.

And that started with baking a cake.

"I don't see why we can't just _buy_ one," Sherlock grumbled, holding Elspeth's hand as the pair walked into the shop, fetching a basket on the way.

"No!" Elspeth wailed. "We have to make one!"

"Why? We didn't make yours."

Elspeth stared up at Sherlock in shock. He ignored her, fetching a basket and consulting the list he'd written with Elspeth's help. Neither of them had any idea how to make a cake so they had to find an old cookery book that was shoved in one of the kitchen cupboards. Sherlock wasn't keen on the idea of baking. It took too long and it was messy and he knew that he'd end up being the one cleaning it all up, but Elspeth was so insistent that they do it, and Sherlock didn't want to disappoint her. Perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as he thought.

He just wished they were doing it for someone other than Mycroft. Sherlock hadn't forgiven him for trying to outdo his presents on Elspeth's birthday.

"What do we need?" Elspeth asked, holding her hands out for the list. Sherlock lifted it out of her reach.

"Butter, caster sugar, eggs, and flour."

"And decorations."

Sherlock sighed. "Do we have to decorate it?"

"Yeah," Elspeth said, as if it was all so obvious. "With lots and lots of icing and sweets and chocolate and candles!" She grinned, then a thought popped into her mind. "How old is uncle Mycroft?"

"Ancient," Sherlock muttered.

Frowning, Elspeth looked down at her hands, counted to five, then looked up at Sherlock. "How many candles do we need?" she asked, thinking of the candles that had been on her own cake.

"Lots," Sherlock said with a smirk, imagining Mycroft's face. Elspeth grinned as well and decided that she would get loads and loads of candles, because if Sherlock didn't know how old his brother was, she'd just have to guess. She supposed Mycroft _did_ look sort of ancient. Older than her, she knew, and older than Sherlock. Elspeth didn't know how much older, though. She asked Sherlock. "He's seven years older than I am," he explained, scowling.

"How much is that?"

"How old are you?"

"Four," Elspeth answered promptly.

"What comes after four?" Sherlock took Elspeth by the hand and guided her down the aisle, his eyes flickering between the list and the stock.

"Five?" she guessed. Sherlock nodded.

"Then six, and after six comes seven – that's how much older Mycroft is." Elspeth frowned, obviously confused, and Sherlock sighed. "Four plus three is seven."

Elspeth's face lit up with understanding and she nodded; she'd been three last year, and now she was four, and together they made seven. That seemed very old to Elspeth. If Mycroft was seven years older than Sherlock, then he was positively ancient in Elspeth's eyes, and she wondered what it was like to be so old. She'd have to ask Mycroft.

"Butter!" Elspeth cried, pointing at the blocks of yellow on the shelves. She was too low down and too young to be able to read the signs.

"No, that's cheese," Sherlock corrected. "We're not making a cheese cake."

"People put cheese in cake?" Elspeth screwed her nose up and stared at the thick blocks of cheese on the shelves, imagining cutting open a cake only to find a huge hunk of cheese in the centre. "Yuck. Why?"

"It's nice," Sherlock told her. He'd had cheese cake before; his mother used to make it sometimes when he was young. Noticing Elspeth's dubious expression, he added, "They use a creamy cheese."

That didn't sound any nicer than blocks of cheese, and Elspeth made sure Sherlock knew by sticking her tongue out, letting out a loud noise that sounded like she was being sick. He rolled his eyes and ignored her, picking up the cheapest tub of butter he could find. There was no point in spending a lot of money on Mycroft when he knew the effort would go unappreciated. Sherlock handed it to Elspeth – she insisted on helping him shop – and she dropped it into the basket.

"What next?" she asked cheerfully. Sherlock handed her the list and Elspeth peered at it, trying to decipher the words. "What does that say?

"Caster sugar."

"Huh. What's that word?"

"Eggs and flour," Sherlock read for her.

"And icing," Elspeth added, hugging the list to her chest while trailing after Sherlock, who was struggling to find the right aisle for sugar and flour. "And candles. And jam! We have to put lots and lots of jam in the middle. What jam does uncle Mycroft like?"

"Any," Sherlock said, distracted. "He likes anything sweet, that's why he's always putting on weight."

"I like sweets."

"I know." Elspeth was always asking for sweets whenever she and Sherlock were out, but Sherlock didn't want to have to deal with a hyperactive child, so he usually said no. It would result in a strop but Elspeth would cheer up when Sherlock threatened to not let her watch TV or go to bed early. "If you're good, we can get some," he promised, picking up a small bag of caster sugar. "List please."

Elspeth handed him the list and Sherlock consulted it briefly before giving it back to her.

"We need to get eggs and flour," Elspeth announced. "And icing and jam and sweets for me!" She grabbed hold of Sherlock's hand, dragging him down the aisle, and he let her, smiling to himself. He may have been reluctant to do something nice for Mycroft, but it was nice seeing Elspeth enjoying herself. They picked up the eggs and flour, and Elspeth chose the food colouring they were going to put in the icing sugar, then selected her favourite decorations for his cake.

The cashier was a teenager boy who, thankfully, did not comment on Sherlock's purchases; Elspeth felt the need to tell him they were baking, and received an awkward smile as a response.

"This is going to be fun," Elspeth said to Sherlock, grinning from ear to ear, and he made a quiet noise of agreement. He couldn't see what would go wrong.

* * *

><p>"Don't touch the oven," Sherlock warned. The oven was preheating while he and Elspeth prepared the cake mix. She was standing on a stool with her hair scraped back, courtesy of Sherlock, and glanced over at the oven. "It's hot," he added when he saw the look in her eyes.<p>

"Oh." Elspeth hadn't planned on touching the oven but decided she _definitely_ wouldn't touch it if it was hot. "How hot?"

"Very hot. Your hands will fall off because they're so hot."

Elspeth stared up at Sherlock with wide eyes and he grinned back, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows as he reached for the cook book. They had to grease the baking tins.

"What are you doing?" Elspeth asked when Sherlock picked up the butter.

"Greasing the tins."

"I'll do it!"

Sherlock wasn't sure, but it was Elspeth's idea to bake and she was insistent that she knew what she was doing, so he put a little bit of butter into the tin and let Elspeth rub it across the surface. She used both her hands, getting it all over her fingers, and grimaced when she realised how sticky she was. Turning around, Elspeth wiped her hands on Sherlock's shirt.

"Would you like a cloth?" Sherlock asked dryly. He was going to have to change his shirt.

"No, I'm ok," Elspeth said, unaware of the sarcasm laced in her father's tone. "What now?"

"Cream the butter and sugar together in a bowl until pale and fluffy," Sherlock read. Elspeth screwed her nose up.

"We don't have cream," she said. Sherlock explained that creaming butter and sugar didn't mean adding cream; it was another term for mixing them together. Elspeth frowned, still convinced that creaming had something to do with cream, and watched Sherlock struggle to mix the butter and sugar together. Deciding that she wanted help, she picked up her own spoon and started to mix it as well. The end result was a lot of sugar on the counter.

"Does that look pale and fluffy to you?" Sherlock showed the cake mix, which was lighter than it had been but still a little lumpy, to Elspeth. She shrugged. "It'll do," he decided. "Pass me the eggs."

"How many?"

"Two."

Elspeth picked up the first, handing it over to Sherlock, but the second slipped from her hand and landed straight into the cake mix. "Oh dear," she said sadly.

Sherlock was tempted to leave it in there, but knew Elspeth would be upset if he deliberately sabotaged the cake. He sighed and reached in, the mix cool and sticky against his fingers as he fetched the egg out of the bowl, wiping it on a cloth.

"How do they go in?"

"We have to break them." Sherlock picked up the smaller bowl and tapped the egg against the edge, gently breaking the shell. Elspeth's eyes were wide. "Do you want a go?"

"Yeah!" Elspeth said enthusiastically, taking the egg from Sherlock and whacking it against the bowl so hard that it exploded, half the contents slopping into the bowl and the other half onto Elspeth's front. She giggled. "I did it!"

The recipe required two eggs but only half of the second could be used . . . Sherlock supposed it would do. What difference would half an egg make?

Elspeth poured the egg in while Sherlock stirred the mixture, and though she was only meant to do it slowly, adding bits at a time, she tipped the bowl and poured in the entire egg and a half so the mixture turned very yellow. Sherlock continued to stir though. It was runny. Too runny. Elspeth grimaced when she looked over the edge of the bowl.

"That looks yucky," she said to Sherlock, who continued to attempt to save the mixture for her sake.

"Maybe we should add the flour," he suggested. He didn't know they had to sieve it and poured the flour into the runny mix of eggs and sugar and butter, and though it solidified the mixture a bit, it also made it lumpy. Sherlock realised too late that he should've sieved the flour. Oh well. He supposed it wouldn't matter . . . much. "Here, you stir this – _gently_."

Nodding, Elspeth stirred the mixture as gently as she could for a few seconds. She then got bored and started to stir it vigorously, most of it slopping over the edge of the bowl and onto the front of her shirt. Sherlock sighed.

"How long do I have to do this?" Elspeth asked him. Her arm started to ache.

"Until the lumps are gone."

"That's going to take _forever_!" she whined. "You do it."

Sherlock knew that if he didn't, it wouldn't get done. He took the spoon from Elspeth, stirring until his arm started to ache as well, then gave up. Most of the lumps were gone.

"We can put it into the tins now," Sherlock told Elspeth. He poured the mixture into the tins as evenly as he could and Elspeth sat on the counter with the bowl in her lap, eating the left over mixture even though Sherlock told her not to. "There's raw eggs in there, Elspeth, they're going to make you ill."

"I don't mind," Elspeth said, swinging her legs and grinning. "Do you think uncle Mycroft will like the cake?"

Sherlock tried not to grimace. "He'll love it," he lied. "Mycroft likes cake."

"I like cake."

"You had sweets earlier," Sherlock pointed out. Elspeth giggled.

"Uncle Mycroft will share his cake, won't he? We spent _so_ much time making it."

"Uncle Mycroft never shares anything," Sherlock grumbled, glancing over at Elspeth. She frowned. "Ask him nicely and he probably will." He doubted it, though. He even doubted that Mycroft would want to taste the cake, peering into the oven and grimacing at the sorry state of their cake. "Mycroft is going to love it," he added.

"Yeah," Elspeth agreed. "It's going to be great."

"It was a very nice thing to do," Sherlock said to her, turning to kiss Elspeth's forehead. He didn't get along with Mycroft, but there was no denying it was a lovely idea of hers. "Now, you need to clean up. Bathroom – now."

Elspeth grumbled and Sherlock lifted her from the counter, placing her on her feet so she could go clean her hands.

Sherlock glanced in on the cake again. It looked awful. Flat, lumpy, browner than the picture in the cook book suggested it should be. He half hoped it would taste better than it looked, then scoffed at himself for being such an idiot. There was no way that the cake would taste good.

Racing back into the kitchen, Elspeth stared into the oven as well. "Why isn't it rising?"

"It needs some more time," Sherlock lied. He didn't have the heart to tell her that it was awful.

"Can I ice it straight away?"

Frowning, Sherlock said, "I don't see why not." He didn't know that the cake had to cool down; he had no idea how to bake or decorate. The cake may taste awful, but as long as it looked nice, Sherlock reasoned it wouldn't matter all that much. Mycroft would appreciate the gesture.

Or he'd pretend to, at least, for Elspeth's sake.

When Sherlock took the cake out, he and Elspeth made icing. It was harder than he thought it would be. First they added too much water, so the icing went everywhere when Elspeth slopped it onto the cake, and it went solid after a few minutes of trying to spread it. They hadn't used enough food dye as the dark blue Elspeth chose came out a light, periwinkle with the occasional darker patches where she'd layered the icing. It was a complete and utter mess.

Elspeth was undeterred, though, and reached for the tube of icing so she could write _happy birthday_. She couldn't spell and the writing was wobbly and the message read _hapy berfday _instead, but she'd made an effort and she beamed up at Sherlock when she was done, pleased with herself. Sherlock smiled back at her, and for the first time that day, it didn't feel forced.

* * *

><p>"Mr Holmes," Anthea said. "This is a surprise."<p>

"Is uncle Mycroft here?" Elspeth asked, clutching the cake box to her chest as carefully as she could and gazing up at Anthea with a wide grin. "We've got a surprise for him!"

Anthea smiled back at Elspeth, then looked at Sherlock with a questioning expression. He tried to smile but it felt more like a grimace.

"He's in his office," she said. "Down the hall."

"Let's go!"

"Be careful, Elspeth," Sherlock reminded her, following close behind so he could keep a close eye on her. After all that effort they'd been through, he would've hated for her to drop the cake – even if it was absolutely awful. She didn't know that, though, and grinned as she reached the door to Mycroft's office, kicking because she couldn't knock. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock reached out and knocked for her.

"Come in," Mycroft called. Sherlock opened the door.

"Uncle Mycroft!" Elspeth cried. "Happy birthday, uncle Mycroft!"

Mycroft, who was sitting at his desk with a large amount of paperwork stacked up in front of him, looked up in surprise, watching Elspeth struggle to carry the box across the room with Sherlock following her. He made no move to assist his niece, his eyes flickering between her and his brother in suspicion.

"You've never done this before," Mycroft said to Sherlock, a hint of accusation in his voice. "You usually ignore my birthday completely."

"No, I usually forget your birthday," Sherlock said. "I was going to ignore it this year but Elspeth had other plans. Go," he added, looking at Elspeth, who had stopped to wait for his instructions. "Show uncle Mycroft his birthday present."

With her father's permission, Elspeth toddled forwards and held the box out to Mycroft. He took it from her. Whatever was inside smelled . . . odd. Suspecting this was some sort of practical joke conducted by Sherlock and Elspeth, Mycroft glared at his brother across the office and put the box down on his desk so he could open it. Elspeth had insisted on tying a ribbon around it, and it was sealed rather haphazardly.

"Oh," Mycroft said when he saw the cake, struggling to find the right words. "How . . . nice."

"Elspeth made it for you," Sherlock said pointedly, his gaze flickering towards his daughter. Elspeth was standing on her tiptoes with her hands on Mycroft's chair, her own eyes eagerly gauging his reaction, trying to work out if he liked it as much as Sherlock said he would. Mycroft forced himself to smile down at her.

"It's wonderful, Elspeth, thank you." He ignored the botched icing and incorrectly spelled message and the odd odour rising from the box.

"Aren't you going to taste it?" Elspeth asked him, frowning.

Across the room, Sherlock smirked, trying to hide his laughter. Mycroft supressed a grimace.

"Yes, of course," he said through gritted teeth. "Why don't you ask Anthea if she can take you to the kitchens for some plates? Then we can all have some." Sherlock scowled at the suggestion and Elspeth beamed, darting out of the office. Mycroft glared at his brother. "You cannot expect me to eat _this_," he hissed.

"You don't have to eat the whole thing, just have a few bites of your slice and tell her it's delicious."

Mycroft glanced down at the cake. He knew he was going to have to do as Sherlock told him, or else suffer the consequences of an upset niece.

Still, it was a nice gesture. Mycroft's birthday usually went ignored – not that he minded, of course. He'd always thought that celebrating birthdays were a waste of time for a man his age, but Elspeth had put a lot of time and effort into making this one special for him, so Mycroft supposed that he was just going to have to try and bear eating an awful homemade cake.

"You asked for plates, Mr Holmes?" Anthea said in the doorway, looking confused as Elspeth led her into the office.

"Elspeth made a cake," Mycroft explained. "A birthday gift, it would seem, and I thought it was only fair we all try it." He tried not to grimace. "It looks lovely, Elspeth, thank you."

Anthea peered over Mycroft's shoulder and frowned. "Why are there candles in the box?"

"I didn't want to ruin the icing," Elspeth explained. "So I put the candles in the box. Dad said I could."

"Why are there so many?" Mycroft lifted one of them and glanced down at Elspeth, wondering how old she thought he was. There had to be over fifty candles, at least, all shoved down the sides of the box; the cake was rather small, leaving plenty of space for the strange addition. Sherlock smiled to himself.

"I didn't know how old you were and Dad said you were ancient so I put lots and lots of candles in," Elspeth told him with an innocent look in her eyes, unaware that her father was silently laughing behind her. Mycroft's gaze was venomous when he looked across at Sherlock. "How _old_ are you, uncle Mycroft? Are you a _hundred_ years old? Because that's really ancient."

"No, I am not a hundred years old," Mycroft retorted without thinking. Elspeth giggled.

"Try the cake!" she prompted. Mycroft's smile was tight. He cut a slice, picked up a fork, and looked down at his niece. She was watching his every move; there was no way he could get out of it.

"It's delicious," Mycroft lied when he swallowed his first mouthful of a very dry, disgusting cake. "I'll have to save the rest for tonight, though. I had a very big lunch today."

Elspeth believed the lie, and Mycroft was spared the mercy of eating the rest of his slice, putting it to the side. Anthea barely smothered her giggles and Sherlock grinned from ear to ear, and what Elspeth said next made Mycroft's heart dropped.

"I'm going to make your birthday cake _every_ year!"

* * *

><p>Thank you WerewolfHybrid31, Deductions-of-Sherlolly, tardislover1, Adrillian1497, Marlene, dancetillidrop, Capricornwholovesbooks, bellechat, Music of The Light and Aimee for reviewing!<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

_**9.**_

_Bittersweet and strange, finding you can change, learning you were wrong.  
>- Beauty and the Beast, Beauty and the Beast<em>

"You cannot possibly expect me to take care of her," Mycroft said in disbelief. Elspeth clung to Sherlock's hand, swinging back and forth, and the pair stood in the doorway of Mycroft's office. The youngest Holmes brother didn't see a problem with their sudden and unexpected arrival, and continued to look at Mycroft as if he were being unreasonable to protesting. "Sherlock, this is a place of work, not a _day care centre._"

"I thought you would be pleased to spend some time with your niece," Sherlock retorted, pulling Elspeth up when she sat down on the floor. "After all, you're always complaining that you don't see her enough."

"I do nothing of the sort!"

"I have a _case_, Mycroft, I'm needed. You can't expect me to drag Elspeth to a mur –" Sherlock cut himself off and looked down at Elspeth, who was gazing at them with a sudden interest. "To a crime scene," he said instead.

"I'm surprised you haven't done it sooner."

"You're being unreasonable," Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

Mycroft's eyes widened. "I'm being unreasonable? Sherlock, you can't just turn up and dump your responsibilities on me without warning."

"Fine." Sherlock glanced at Elspeth and sighed. "Do you want to tell her that you don't want to look after her or shall I?"

He knew what Sherlock was doing, and Mycroft tried hard not to succumb to the guilt trip, his lips pressing together in a tight line. He was adamant not to give in; it wasn't fair of Sherlock to turn up and expect him to look after Elspeth, especially when he was at work. But then Elspeth grinned up at him, her eyes wide and hopeful, and Mycroft felt his stubbornness crumbling a little when he gazed at her.

"Fine," Mycroft spat, barely supressing his annoyance. "How long are you going to be?"

"A couple of hours," Sherlock promised with a triumphant grin, letting go of Elspeth's hand and pushing her towards Mycroft. "Tops. I'll be back in time for her dinner. Be a good girl for uncle Mycroft, Elspeth," he added to his daughter. Mycroft highly doubted that would be the case.

Elspeth said goodbye to Sherlock. "Can we play a game?" she asked Mycroft.

He shut the door. "No."

"Why not?" Elspeth pouted and trailed after Mycroft when he walked back to his desk, struggling to keep up with his long legged strides. "We play _lots_ of games at home." She had her pink rucksack on her shoulders and she shrugged it off, ready to show Mycroft what she had brought with her. "It'll be lots of fun!"

"We're not playing a game," Mycroft told her sternly. He sat down. "I have got a lot of work to do."

"What work? Can I help?"

"No." Mycroft carefully detached Elspeth when she tried to clamber onto his lap, placing her back on the floor and ignoring the way she scowled at him. "Go . . . sit down and do whatever it is you do."

"Can I draw?"

Mycroft was quickly losing his patience. "Yes, of course you can," he said. "Just don't make a mess."

Elspeth picked up her bag and sat down on the floor by Mycroft's desk, taking out her pad and colouring set so she could spread them out across the floor. Mycroft sighed.

"I'm not making a mess," Elspeth said with an innocent look in her eyes.

Mycroft didn't like it, but at least it kept her quiet for a short while and allowed him to get on with his work. Occasionally he would stop to check on Elspeth, but she was rather content to sit and draw, oblivious to anything going on around her. She hummed sometimes, talking to herself on occasion; it was quite amusing to listen to. In a strange way, Mycroft was reminded of his brother.

The blissful silence was interrupted by Elspeth. "Why do you have such a big desk?"

"Because I'm an important adult with a lot of work to do," Mycroft said.

"Dad's has a lot of work but he doesn't have a desk. Does every adult have a desk?" Elspeth abandoned her drawing and opened the drawer nearest to her, peering inside. "What's in here? You have a lot of stuff."

"Don't touch that," Mycroft said, taking the file Elspeth had pulled out of the drawer from her hand. He put it away, manoeuvred Elspeth to the side, and shut the drawer again. "Didn't your father ever teach you it was rude to go through other people's belongings?"

Elspeth shook her head. "He does it all the time."

"Well he shouldn't, and neither should you."

"Why?"

"Because it's very rude."

"What's rude?"

"Rude means you shouldn't do it," Mycroft said through gritted teeth, wondering if Elspeth was deliberately trying to wind him up. No, she wouldn't do that, she was only five years old. She was inquisitive, that was all, and if he wasn't so busy he would've been happy to indulge in her questions. But it became rather tedious to Mycroft when all he was trying to do was get on with his work. "Don't you have some drawings to do?"

"I finished them," Elspeth said. "Do you want to see?"

"Not right now, Elspeth, I'm still busy."

"Oh." She sounded so dejected that Mycroft was tempted to just look at the drawings so Elspeth would stop pouting. She cheered up when she looked at the computer on his desk. "Have you got any games?"

"I'm a grown man, I don't play games," Mycroft responded dryly.

"You're boring."

Mycroft decided to ignore her; he was sure that Elspeth would find something to entertain herself with. Sitting back down on the floor, Elspeth sighed and looked down at her drawings for a long time, debating on carrying on with the one she'd stopped halfway through. But the thought made her screw up her nose. Drawing was boring.

Sherlock promised he wouldn't be long, but to Elspeth, the time that had dragged by already felt like hours.

Most of her stuff was at home. Sherlock only packed her sketch pad and colouring set, along with a few books with lots of bright pictures and an activity booklet she'd already been through loads of times. Elspeth huffed when she opened her bag, looking inside. She had brought her teddy bear – the fluffy one with a blue ribbon – with her, but Elspeth couldn't play with him on her own because she didn't have her other dolls, so she couldn't have a tea party. She didn't think Mycroft would join in, even if she asked nicely.

Huffing again, Elspeth looked up when Mycroft asked, "Something the matter, Elspeth?"

"I'm bored."

Mycroft, rolling his eyes, said to her, "Find something to do, then."

"There's nothing _to_ do!" Elspeth told him, far more exasperated than a girl her age needed to be. "Will you have a tea party with me?"

The answer was no; Elspeth had expected that.

Deciding there was nothing better to do, Elspeth sat with her teddy and opened the activity book. She didn't want to fill in any of the word puzzles or work out the maths problems, nor did she want to do any of the quizzes inside, so she picked up a crayon and started to colour in the cartoon characters that were printed on the pages. It was surprisingly good fun.

Mycroft glanced her way, relieved that she was being quiet. He despised Sherlock for leaving him in the lurch. Next time, Mycroft was determined to be more prepared.

"Mr Holmes, there's – oh." Anthea stopped when she saw Elspeth on the floor. "I wasn't aware that you were busy," she said with a slight grin.

"My dearest brother was under the impression that my job isn't as important as his," Mycroft said.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I highly doubt it."

"Hello again, Elspeth," Anthea said to the girl by her feet. Elspeth looked up, smiling and waving at Anthea before returning to her colouring. "You've got a meeting in five minutes, Mr Holmes, I just came to remind you." She glanced at Elspeth. "Would you like me to take her to my office, give you all some privacy?"

"Please, Anthea," Mycroft said in a suffering tone, rubbing one hand against his brow in a weary manner. He looked at the clock. "Dear God, has is it only been an hour? It feels as if I've been looking after her for a week now."

"I think it's nice, spending time with your family," Anthea remarked. Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "Just thinking aloud, Mr Holmes, not speculating," she added quickly. "Elspeth, do you want to come to my office for a short while? I'm sure I've got some old magazines you can rip up and make a collage out of."

_That_ sounded fun. Gathering her things – but only after Mycroft reminded her to – Elspeth took Anthea's hand and left the office, giving Mycroft some time to himself. He let out a sigh of relief.

* * *

><p>"I'm hungry."<p>

"You can have some lunch soon," Mycroft said distractedly, focusing on the footage on his computer screen.

"But I'm hungry now," Elspeth whined. She didn't get a response right away and huffed. Anthea had let her stay in her office for a while, tearing and sticking bits of old magazines into her sketchpad, but then she got called away and Elspeth had to return to Mycroft. She stood on her tiptoes with her hands on the arm of Mycroft's chair. "What are you watching?"

Mycroft quickly removed the footage from the screen, looking down at Elspeth. He had almost forgotten she was there. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Elspeth gave him a dubious look. "I'm hungry," she repeated.

"Hungry – lunch, let's get lunch." Mycroft checked the time and realised he hadn't eaten all day. "Get your coat."

"Where are we going?"

Mycroft crouched down to do Elspeth's coat up for her, checking that her shoes were laced up properly. "There's a café not far from here we can go to," he explained. "If you're good and eat all of your lunch, I'll buy you a cake."

Her eyes lighting up at the mention of cake, Elspeth grabbed Mycroft's hand. "Let's go!"

There was a cafeteria they could eat in, but Mycroft couldn't take her there; his co-workers would never let him live it down, and he had worked hard to get to his position in the government. He wasn't willing to let it slip away just because his younger brother couldn't provide and arrange appropriate child care for Elspeth.

One of the drivers took Mycroft and Elspeth into central London, and the pair walked the rest of the way to the café. It was small and quaint, with the smell of home cooking lingering in the air, and Mycroft guided Elspeth towards a table by the window.

"Can we go to the park?" she asked, swinging her legs.

"Maybe."

Elspeth huffed. She didn't like it when adults said _maybe_ because that meant there was a chance that they were going to say no.

"I've been really good today," Elspeth said pointedly. Mycroft didn't respond, his attention focused on the menu in front of him, and she frowned. "I've been really _really_ good today." She waited. "I've been _so_ good today."

"How good have you been today?" Mycroft asked. The sarcasm was lost on her.

"Really good!" Elspeth insisted. "Please can we go to the park? Please, please, _please_!"

"Perhaps."

That wasn't much better than maybe, but Elspeth decided not to push it. She knew from experience that if she asked for something too much, adults would tell her no, and she didn't want that. Elspeth could only have so much fun in the office with Mycroft and Anthea, but what she really wanted to do was to go outside and run about. Sherlock had promised that if she asked nicely, Mycroft would take her.

Elspeth asked her sandwich, even her crusts, and Mycroft kept his promise of buying her a cake afterwards. When she finished that, Elspeth sat back and gazed her at her uncle.

"Staring is very unbecoming, Elspeth."

"What does that mean?"

Mycroft sighed, unwilling to explain at great lengths the definition of a word. "It means you shouldn't do it," he said instead.

"So it's rude!" Elspeth said, remembering what Mycroft had told her earlier about going through another person's belongings. She felt very proud of herself.

"Yes."

It was becoming increasingly difficult for Mycroft not to lose his patience with Elspeth. He decided he wouldn't be surprised if Sherlock had told her to be as difficult as possible while Mycroft was taking care of her; it seemed like the sort of thing Sherlock would teach Elspeth. She was only young. She was impressionable.

"Can we go to the park please, uncle Mycroft?" Elspeth asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes and looking rather adorable as she did so. "I've been really good all day."

"If I say yes, will you stop asking me?"

Elspeth nodded eagerly, grinning from ear to ear, and Mycroft sighed as he paid for their lunch, picking her back up for her. He made sure to alert Anthea that he wouldn't be returning to work for at least another hour and allowed Elspeth to drag him along the street, excited to be going to the park. When they finally arrived, and not a moment too soon in her opinion, Elspeth let go of Mycroft's hand, racing forwards as fast as she could.

"Elspeth," Mycroft called after her. "_Elspeth_, come back here!"

It was pointless; Elspeth was already halfway across the park. A couple of parents gave Mycroft sympathetic and understanding smiles, and his returning smile felt more like a grimace. He disliked interacting with other people more than was necessary.

Mycroft caught up with Elspeth as quickly as he could, given that he despised any sort of physical exercise. He was thankful that she had stopped by the swings, which she was trying to clamber on with some difficulty, lying across it on her stomach with her legs flailing in the air. She giggled when she looked at Mycroft, and he raised his eyebrows at her, unimpressed.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I want to go on the swing," Elspeth explained. "Can you push me?"

"You have to sit on it properly," Mycroft told her. After a few seconds of wriggling about, Elspeth slid off the swing and landed on her bottom with an annoyed expression. She looked up at Mycroft.

The last thing Mycroft wanted to do was lift Elspeth and put her on the swing, but she was so confused that he realised he didn't have much choice. He sighed. Putting his arms around her, Mycroft lifted Elspeth into the air, flinching when she squealed right in his ear, and put her down on the swing. Elspeth was insistent that he push her, so Mycroft trudged around behind her and gave her a half-hearted push.

"Higher!" Elspeth cried, laughing as she swung back and forth. "I want to go higher!"

Her laughter was infectious, and soon even Mycroft couldn't stop himself from smiling at her. Elspeth stayed on the swing for a little while before deciding she was bored, clambering off and running across the park again so Mycroft had to catch up with her a second time. He let out a sigh of relief when she reached the climbing structure, scrambling up the ladder and joining in a game some of the other children her age were playing.

Mycroft sat down on a nearby bench and watched Elspeth. If he disregarded the constant questions and having to keep an eye on her so she didn't run off or start going through his belongings, Mycroft supposed that looking after Elspeth hadn't been as hard as he anticipated. She was as well behaved as could be expected from a child her age.

He had been worried about taking care of her. He hadn't been prepared.

It had been a long time since Mycroft Holmes looked after anyone. When he was young, he would take care of Sherlock for brief periods of time, but that was different. Elspeth wasn't like Sherlock.

"Look, uncle Mycroft!" Elspeth shouted from the climbing structure, standing on the edge and waving vigorously. "Look!"

Mycroft smiled and waved back. Maybe looking after Elspeth wasn't as hard as he thought it would be.

* * *

><p>Elspeth was on Mycroft's lap when Sherlock arrived back at his brother's office. He stopped and frowned, his eyes flickering between the pair.<p>

"So today went well?" Sherlock asked, walking forwards.

Mycroft, whose eyes were on the computer screen in front of him, looked up. "Yes, today went very well," he said with a hint of smugness in his voice. "Elspeth and I had fun today. Didn't we, Elspeth?"

"Yeah! Look what I did!"

Elspeth slid down from Mycroft's lap and presented the various drawings she had done throughout the day, as well as the collage she had made in Anthea's office. Sherlock looked through them with a polite smile, still confused as to how Mycroft had got through the day on his own. He'd expected his brother to ring him after the first hour or so and beg for him to take Elspeth away, but somehow, Mycroft managed to take care of his niece for a few hours.

"Get your bag and coat," Sherlock said to Elspeth, handing the drawings back to her so she could put them away. He narrowed his eyes at Mycroft. "What did you do all day?"

"Elspeth did some drawings, I taught her the importance of manners, and we had lunch in a nice little café not far from here," Mycroft answered. "You need to teach her that going through other people's belongings is rude."

Elspeth perked up at the mention of the word 'rude', piping up, "That means you shouldn't do it!"

Sherlock glared at Mycroft. "I suppose you taught her that?"

"It was necessary."

"I thought you weren't running a day care centre," Sherlock pointed out with a smirk. Mycroft bristled and glared at his brother, unwilling to admit that he was wrong. "So, can I rely on you to take care of her again?"

"With some warning, yes," Mycroft said. "And preferably _not_ at my office."

Sherlock smirked. With her coat zipped up and her bag on her shoulders, Elspeth held her arms out and Sherlock swept her up, holding her on his hip.

"What do you say to uncle Mycroft?" he reminded her.

"Thank you, uncle Mycroft," Elspeth called across the room. Mycroft smiled and waved at Elspeth, who waved back over Sherlock's shoulder when he carried her out of the room. Leaning back in his seat, Mycroft smiled to himself; maybe he _could_ look after Elspeth again.

* * *

><p>Thank you WerewolfHybrid31, Adrillian1497, Princely Archer, bellechat and dancetillidrop for reviewing!<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

_**10.**_

_I am not a child now. I can take care of myself. I mustn't let them down now.  
>- I'll Try, Peter Pan 2: Return to Neverland<em>

School.

Sherlock scoffed at the idea – he and Mycroft rarely interacted with children their age when they were growing up, and they both grew up _fine_ – but experts (and Mycroft) insisted that it was important for Elspeth's development to attend school, and therefore get an education and interact with people her age, which she hadn't done since she'd started to live with Sherlock.

The thought of Elspeth going to school made Sherlock feel something akin to worry. He wouldn't be there to look after her or make sure that she was alright, and he knew for a fact that children could be cruel sometimes. He'd lost count of how many names he'd been called, how many times other kids had pushed him in the corridor or deliberately tried to trip him over when he was engrossed in a book; Sherlock didn't want Elspeth to go through the same ordeal.

"It's natural to feel worried," Molly told him when Sherlock reluctantly explained his worries to her.

Sherlock gave her a narrow eyed stare. "I'm not worried," he lied. "Elspeth will be fine."

"Of course she will. She's a great kid – she'll make friends really easily," Molly said with a sincere smile, then returned to her work. She didn't know for certain what it was like to send a child off to school because she wasn't a mother, so Molly could only guess how Sherlock felt. She was just pleased that he could open up to her. "It's always a bit daunting, watching them grow up," she added.

Sherlock made a quiet noise of agreement but didn't say anything on the matter. Molly smiled to herself.

"I suppose it'll make your days easier now, won't it?" she continued. "Not having to find someone to look after her while you're working –"

"Molly," Sherlock interrupted in a low voice.

Her cheeks burning, Molly murmured, "I'll just let you get on with your work, then."

* * *

><p>Elspeth stood in front of the mirror and stared at her reflection with an uneasy stomach, playing with the hem of her grey skirt and tugging on the collar of her shirt, fidgeting even though Sherlock told her to keep still while he made sure that everything fit properly.<p>

There would be a lot of people there that she didn't know. And the school was going to be a lot bigger than Elspeth was used to. The thought made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

"You're nervous," Sherlock said.

"No I'm not!" Elspeth lied stubbornly, glowering at him. She crossed her arms and scowled when Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her. "I'm _not_!"

Sherlock looked at Elspeth closely but didn't say anything else, helping her into her school jumper. It was a bit too large for her because someone once told Sherlock that children grew into their clothes quick enough, but looking at her then, he wondered if he should've got a size smaller. It was too late now, though. Elspeth didn't seem to mind that much.

He braided her hair quickly, his hands steady, then sent her through to the living room to collect her coat and shoes. Sherlock watched her go.

Sherlock wondered if this was how his mother felt when she sent him and Mycroft to school. It was strange. He knew it would be more convenient for work; Sherlock would only have to make sure he was there in the morning to get her ready and at the school in the afternoon to collect her. Mycroft wouldn't have to babysit his niece anymore. He'd purchased an apartment in London under the pretence that it was for work, but Sherlock knew Mycroft disliked having Elspeth in his office.

Elspeth picked up her coat and shoes, frowning. She was scared.

What if she didn't make any friends? Or people didn't like her? And what was Sherlock going to do all day while she wasn't at home? So many questions went through Elspeth's head. She bit her lip.

"Don't do that, Elspeth, it's a terrible habit," Sherlock scolded as he walked past.

Elspeth trailed after him. "Do I have to go to school?"

"Yes."

"But _you_ don't go."

"That's because I'm an adult, Elspeth, I go to work," Sherlock explained, opening the fridge and taking out Elspeth's snack. He reminded himself to give Elspeth money to hand in for school dinners. "You have to go to school."

Elspeth frowned again and asked, "Why?"

"Because we'll both get in lots of trouble if you don't get to school, and we don't want that, do we?" Sherlock glanced down at Elspeth, who was wringing her hands together and staring at her feet. "Sure you're not nervous?"

"I'm not," Elspeth insisted.

"Hmm," was all Sherlock said, packing Elspeth's lunch in her bag and kneeling down to help her into her shoes, doing the buckles up so they wouldn't slip when she ran about. He'd made sure to find shoes that fit properly. Elspeth slid her arms into her coat, giggling when Sherlock zipped it up and gently tweaked her nose, and took Sherlock's hand as they left the apartment. It was a short walk to the school.

Elspeth's grip tightened the closer they got to the school, slowing down when they turned the corner.

"What are you going to do today?"

"Go to Scotland Yard," Sherlock told her. They crossed the road. "No doubt they need my assistance."

There were a lot of parents gathered at the school gates, dropping off their nervous children as well. Only a couple of them seemed confident about their first day at school, swaggering about and insisting that they didn't need to kiss their mothers goodbye, but most of the kids were clinging to their parents, their eyes darting about.

"See," Sherlock said to Elspeth. "Everyone's nervous."

"I'm not _nervous_!"

A few parents turned their way, giving Sherlock understanding smiles of sympathy, and he nodded in acknowledgment, grimacing when they looked away.

Elspeth was pale and she continued to chew on her bottom lip, so Sherlock crouched to her level, putting his hand under her chin.

"It's normal to feel nervous," Sherlock said, remembering what Molly had said to him in the lab. "You'll make friends really easily. You're a great kid." It all sounded incredibly soppy and insincere coming from Sherlock, but Elspeth brightened up a little, gazing back at him with hope in her eyes. Sherlock grimaced. "Elspeth, you're going to be absolutely fine. You're going to make me proud."

_Make me proud._ Elspeth's chest swelled and she nodded earnestly at Sherlock's words, filled with more determination she'd ever felt before. Yes, she was going to make Sherlock proud. She was going to show everyone that she wasn't afraid.

The bell rang, taking Elspeth by surprise, and she looked around at all the other children slowly making their way towards the doors. She supposed she had to follow them.

"Go on," Sherlock said. "Time to go."

"Love you," Elspeth said, hooking her arms around Sherlock's neck for a moment, hugging him as tight as she could. Sherlock hugged her back.

The day started off well enough. Elspeth got taken to a big hall with all the other kids in her class, where they sat on the floor and listened to the head teacher, a middle aged man with a big stomach and funny moustache, welcomed them all to the school, wishing them the best in their time there.

"I like your hair," one of the girls told her shyly on the way back to their class. She was a bit taller than Elspeth, with short blonde hair with lots of pretty clips in it.

"I like yours too," Elspeth said with a nervous smile of her own. "I'm Elspeth."

"That's a pretty name. I'm Jessica."

Elspeth decided that she liked Jessica. Remembering how Sherlock greeted people he'd just met, Elspeth held her hand out.

Jessica frowned. "What are you doing?"

"You're supposed to shake it." Elspeth frowned. "I think."

"Oh." Jessica giggled and reached out, shaking Elspeth's hand from side to side. "Like this?"

Elspeth laughed. "No! They have to go up and down," she explained, showing Jessie how to shake hands. She'd learned that from Sherlock. "Like this!"

"What are you doing?" a boy with lots of freckles asked.

"Shaking hands," Elspeth said. "It's what adults do when you meet someone. First you tell them your name, then they tell you their name, and then you shake their hand. Like this. I'm Elspeth." She thrust her hand towards the boy, snatching it away when he tried to shake it. "No, you tell me your name first, _then_ you shake it."

"I'm Tommy." He hesitated. "Do I shake your hand now?"

"Yep," Jessica said. She added, "Do it up and down, not side to side."

Tommy shook Elspeth's hand, attracting the attention of several other's in their class. They gathered round, asking what they were doing, and Elspeth explained the concept of shaking hands to them all with help from Jessica, who reminded them all to shake _up and down_, not _side to side._ Soon the whole class were introducing themselves to each other and shaking hands – "You have to do it up and down!" – so when the teacher arrived, she was met with a very funny sight.

"What are you all doing?" she asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"Shaking hands, miss," Tommy piped up. "Elspeth showed us how to do it."

"Which one of you is Elspeth, then?" Elspeth hesitatingly lifted her hand, and the teacher turned her smile towards her, crouching down. "It's very nice to meet you, Elspeth. How did you learn to do that?"

"My Dad does it," Elspeth mumbled with her chin pressed against her chest.

"It's a very good thing to do. You should be very proud of yourself."

Elspeth lifted her head, grinning back.

The teacher introduced herself, telling them all that her name was Miss Cassidy, and everyone sat in a wide circle on the carpet with her.

"Now I know a lot of you know each other's names," Miss Cassidy said with a smile at Elspeth, who was sitting between Jessica and Tommy. "But I want you to say them again and tell everyone a little bit about yourself. It can be anything you like."

They went round the circle, each student telling everyone their name and giving some information about themselves – their favourite colour, their hobbies, their pet names . . . it all seemed very dull to Elspeth. She decided that she was going to tell everyone something really cool, far cooler than anything they'd all said, and racked her brains for something that would impress everyone. By the time they reached Jessica, who was sitting beside her, Elspeth knew what she was going to say.

"I'm Elspeth," she announced. "And my Dad's a detective. He solves lots of puzzles and gets bad guys put in jail."

"Wow," Tommy said with clear admiration in his eyes. "Is he like Scooby Doo?"

"Nuh-uh, monsters aren't real," Elspeth said haughtily. "He works with the police _all_ the time and today, he's going to Scotland!" She felt as if she may have gotten things mixed up a little, but Elspeth shrugged it off and continued anyway. "He knows a lot about people just by looking at them."

"Can you do that?" Jessica asked.

Elspeth nodded. "Miss Cassidy has a pet."

There were hairs on the bottom of Miss Cassidy's trousers, but the teacher was so stunned that she didn't say anything, gazing back at Elspeth with disbelief. She did, in fact, have a pet; a small dog. She had no idea how Elspeth could've known that.

A lot of the kids were amazed by Elspeth's deduction, begging that she do it to them too, but Mycroft had once told her that showing off was rude so she shook her head, refusing to do anymore.

"You're lying," Tommy said, sitting on Elspeth's other side. "Scotland is _ages_ away."

"No it isn't, Dad goes there all the time! He goes to the yard to help the police," Elspeth said. "And he'll be back in time to pick me up."

"Why doesn't your mum pick you up?" one of the other students asked from across the circle.

"Because she's in Italy. They have a lot of pizza and pasta there. She was in rehab but now she's out and she's gone away with a new friend."

"What's rehab?"

"A special hospital for adults."

"Thank you, Elspeth," Miss Cassidy cut in before anyone else could ask another question, her face losing some of its colour when Elspeth mentioned rehab. "Maybe we should give the others a chance to talk, yeah?"

"I'm Tommy and I've been to Scotland and I needed a _plane_ to get there!"

* * *

><p>It was playtime and the playground was so cool because it was large and there was a frog in it. Elspeth was chasing it with Jessica and Tommy when a few of the other boys from their class – Jacob and Alex and Sean – came over.<p>

"Your dad can't be a detective," Jacob told Elspeth. He was taller than her so she had to crane her neck back to look at him, unafraid. "That isn't a proper job."

"Yes it is," Elspeth replied. She wasn't going to let them bully her father.

"No it isn't," Alex said. "He doesn't get paid for it."

"Yes he does!" Elspeth didn't know that for certain but if Sherlock's job was to be a detective, surely he got paid for doing work; all adults got paid for their jobs, didn't they? "You don't know anything, you big stupid head!" Elspeth had heard Sherlock call people stupid when they didn't know or understand something, so she didn't see anything wrong with repeating his words.

"You can't call people names!" Jessica wailed from behind her, pressing herself against the fence as if to hide herself. "You have to say sorry now!"

But Elspeth didn't.

Alex shoved her. Elspeth scowled and pushed him back. Jessica continued to wail and Tommy ran off to get a teacher, but none of that mattered to Elspeth, who was glaring up at Alex and Jacob and Sean through her tears, furious that they were being mean about Sherlock.

With a yell, Alex pushed Elspeth as hard as he could. It was hard enough to send her falling backwards, landing heavily on the ground and staring back at him in shock.

They both got in trouble for fighting even though Elspeth only shoved Alex because he did it to her first, and frustrated tears rolled down her cheeks when she was made to stand by the wall with her back to everyone. She wasn't allowed to play with her new friends and everyone was going to hate her for getting in trouble and Sherlock was going to be angry at her. Letting out a quiet sob, Elspeth rested her forehead on the wall and squeezed her eyes shut. She hated school.

* * *

><p>Elspeth knew that Sherlock knew what had happened the second she saw him at the school gates, trailing out with her bag dragging along the ground. Tommy and Jessica said goodbye to her, and that lifted Elspeth's spirits only a little; she was certain they would hate her tomorrow.<p>

Sherlock carried Elspeth's bag for her on the way home and held her hand all the way, but he didn't say anything to her. She tried not to cry again.

When they got home, Elspeth was allowed to take off her school uniform and sit in front of the TV while Sherlock made dinner for them both. Her favourite cartoon was on but Elspeth didn't pay much attention to it, curling her legs up to her chest and hugging them with her chin on her knees, frowning miserably. She decided that she didn't ever want to go back to school.

Reaching round, Sherlock picked up the remote and turned the TV off. Elspeth didn't protest.

"Come here," Sherlock said, sitting down on the sofa next to him. Elspeth didn't hesitate to scramble onto his lap, wrapping her small arms around his waist and burying her face into his chest. "What happened, then?" Elspeth shrugged. "Don't do that, Elspeth, you know you're more than capable of talking. What happened?"

"Everyone hates me," Elspeth mumbled against Sherlock's chest, her voice muffled.

"Why?"

"Because I pushed Alex in my class."

Sherlock knew all about it. Elspeth's teacher – Miss . . . Casey? He couldn't remember – had told him, and though she made it clear that Alex had provoked Elspeth, Sherlock wanted to know his daughter's side of the story.

"Well you didn't do that without a reason," Sherlock said.

Elspeth sniffed, lifted her head a little, and frowned up at Sherlock. "I told everybody that you were a detective and that you go to the yard in Scotland, and Tommy said you need to get a plane to go there, but that didn't make me angry."

"What did, then?" Sherlock stroked Elspeth's hair soothingly, pushing it behind her ears, and she shrugged. "Elspeth."

"Alex said your job wasn't a proper job because you don't get paid and I said you do and I called him a stupid head –" Sherlock had to hide his smirk as Elspeth admitted that. "– so he pushed me, and I only pushed him back because he did it first! Then he pushed me again and that's when I fell over."

Sherlock's arms tightened around Elspeth, holding her close, and he sighed. "Elspeth," he began. "You can't call people names."

"But you call people stupid all the time," Elspeth pointed out.

That was true. Sherlock realised he was going to have to be careful about what he said around Elspeth.

"Yes, I do," Sherlock agreed with a frown. "But I shouldn't, and neither should you. It's not very nice. You wouldn't like it if I called you a stupid head, would you?" Elspeth considered it, then shook her head. Being called stupid head wasn't very nice. "Exactly. That's why you can't call people names."

"But he was being mean about you first!"

"People are mean to other people who are different. They don't mean to be, they're just . . ." Sherlock frowned, trying to think of the right word. "Scared, usually, because something isn't the way they thought it was."

"That's not very nice," Elspeth muttered.

"Not everyone is nice," Sherlock reminded her. "Elspeth, you don't need to get upset or defend me when people say not very nice things about me – I'm an adult, it doesn't bother me. It's _my_ job to look after _you_, not the other way round."

"What if they keep doing it?"

"Tell me. Or the teacher. But don't get mad, don't push people, and especially _don't_ call them names like stupid head." Sherlock cradled Elspeth's face with both his hands and looked her in the eyes. "Do you understand me?"

Elspeth nodded. "I thought you would be proud."

Sherlock felt something in the pit of his stomach and he couldn't tell what it was; not pain, it wasn't that unpleasant. It didn't feel like sadness, either.

"You do that every day by going to school," Sherlock said to Elspeth. "Because you're going to learn a lot of new things and make a lot of friends, and that makes me feel proud of you. Not fighting, though. Fighting makes me do this." Sherlock pulled a silly face, purposefully exaggerating his frown, and Elspeth giggled. "So no more fighting, do you understand?"

Nodding, Elspeth stood up on Sherlock's lap and hugged him.

The next day, when Sherlock dropped her off at school, Elspeth sought Alex out in the crowd and apologised for calling him stupid and pushing him. Alex, who had apparently had a similar talk with his own parents the previous evening, said sorry for being mean about Sherlock.

When the bell rang, the pair of them rushed to class together, leaving Sherlock standing at the school gates with a small smile. All his worrying was for nothing – Elspeth was going to be just fine.

* * *

><p>Thank you WerewolfHybrid31, EICochrane, Capricornwholovesbooks, Princely Archer, bellechat, Adrillian1497 and BlueGreen216 for reviewing!<p>

Exciting (but not fanfiction related sadly) news: I passed my driving test! That's partially the reason I didn't update sooner, but I was so happy when it happened I couldn't think of anyone better to share it with than all you lovely people who take the time to read and review my work!


	11. Chapter 11

_**11.**_

_You're not even aware you're such a funny pair  
>- Best Friends, The Fox and The Hound.<em>

Elspeth loved the weekends.

She liked school a lot, even if she did sometimes get in trouble for talking too much or making a bit of a mess when they were painting, but at weekends she got to spend time with Sherlock and that was the best thing ever.

Elspeth was still in her pyjamas, munching jammy toast in front of the TV, when the phone rang.

"Can I answer it?" Elspeth asked eagerly. She wasn't allowed to answer the phone or open the door unless Sherlock said she could.

"No," he said. Her face dropped. "Eat your breakfast."

Grumbling that all her other friends got to answer the phones at their homes, Elspeth went back to eating her toast, pulling the crusts off and licking the jam from her fingers. She always got in a mess when she ate jammy toast. The TV cut to the adverts and Elspeth crinkled her nose up, looking towards Sherlock when he paced past her with the phone in his hand, frowning. He didn't look very happy.

"You're certain it's . . ." Sherlock's voice trailed off when he realised Elspeth was watching him. He turned his back on her and murmured a word she couldn't hear. "What's the address?" he asked. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Sherlock put the phone down, then turned to Elspeth and frowned at her. She frowned back.

"It's rude to stare," Elspeth told him. She'd learned that at school.

Turning around, Sherlock snatched the phone up again and dialled a different number. Elspeth thought that was even ruder. She didn't say so.

"Dammit, Mycroft," Sherlock muttered.

"I thought that was a bad word. You're not supposed to use bad words because they sound nasty and people won't like you and then you won't have any friends."

Sherlock stared at Elspeth. "Where did you learn that?" he asked finally.

"School."

"Oh." Sherlock briefly wondered what sort of lessons that school was teaching his daughter. "Go brush your teeth. We're going out."

* * *

><p>When DI Greg Lestrade first met Sherlock Holmes, the younger man had been high as a kite.<p>

It had been disastrous, really. Sherlock's pupils were huge, his eyes were bloodshot and everything he said was accompanied with a wide goofy grin. Since then, Sherlock started turning up at Scotland Yard and at crime scenes over the years. Lestrade thought that nothing about Sherlock Holmes would surprise him. He was very wrong.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," Sherlock had said when Lestrade spoke to him earlier. They were still waiting.

The scene was a suicide, possible murder, and though he hated to admit it, Lestrade reckoned Sherlock would be really helpful. The police were more than capable of solving it alone – they'd been doing it for years, obviously – but sometimes having Sherlock there provided more insight to the case.

"Freak not here yet?" Sally asked, her lips titled into a smirk.

"Give him time," Lestrade snapped back irritably.

"No need," Anderson said, taking off his gloves and glaring over Lestrade's shoulder. He didn't like Sherlock either.

"Finally," Lestrade called, turning around and striding to the tape that cut the crime scene off from the general public. He stopped when he saw the small girl sitting on Sherlock's shoulders. Her eyes were wide as she looked around with obvious interest, and for a brief moment, Lestrade thought that Sherlock may have kidnapped her.

He shook his head. Sherlock never expressed an interest or any sentiment for children; why would he willingly take one off the streets?

"I got here as fast as I could," Sherlock said, ignoring Lestrade's incredulous stare. "I'll need to look around."

"Who is she?" Lestrade asked.

"My daughter." Sherlock reached up and removed the girl from his shoulders, lowering her to the ground. He glanced at her irritably when she wrapped her arms around his leg and buried her face into his trousers, clinging to him like a spider monkey. "Who's on forensics?"

"Er –" Lestrade stared at Sherlock. "Anderson . . . she's your _daughter_?"

"Yes, Lestrade, my daughter. Elspeth, say hello to Lestrade."

Elspeth peeked up at Lestrade and waved, looking so shy that he felt obliged to wave back. She was cute.

"You never said you had a daughter," Lestrade said to Sherlock.

"You never asked," Sherlock retorted impatiently.

Lestrade snorted. "Why did you bring her to a _crime scene_?"

"Because I didn't have time to find a competent babysitter and Mycroft wasn't answering his phone," Sherlock said irritably. "I have her book so she can sit in one of the cars."

Elspeth frowned with disappointment at the mention of a car. She'd wanted to explore the crime scene with Sherlock.

"You can't just leave her unattended in a police car."

"Then have one of your officers watch her."

"They're not here to be your babysitters, Sherlock, they're here to do their job," Lestrade said with a hint of impatience in his voice, crossing his arms. He was careful not to raise his voice, aware that Elspeth's eyes were on him.

"And I am here to do mine," Sherlock hissed back. He pressed his lips together, glanced down at Elspeth, and took a moment to calm himself. "I didn't know what else to do."

Lestrade felt a pang of sympathy then. Being a father wasn't easy. He looked down at Elspeth and smiled at her when she stared up at him.

"Alright," Lestrade said, defeated. "She can sit in my car."

It was almost comical, seeing Sherlock stride down the road in his usual long legged way with a small girl scampering by his side and clinging to his hand.

Standing to the side, Lestrade watched Sherlock lift Elspeth into the backseat of the car and open her Powerpuff Girls rucksack for her, taking out a book with a brightly coloured cover. Sherlock crouched next to Elspeth, talking in a low tone so Lestrade couldn't hear, and smiled at her when she looked up at him uncertainly. Lestrade could only stare in shock. Sherlock did not smile at people, especially not lovingly, and it was gone the moment he stood up again.

"Lead the way," Sherlock said.

Lestrade waited until they were out of earshot before blurting out, "Since when did you have a daughter?"

"Since she was born," Sherlock replied, his tone implying it was obvious. Lestrade frowned at him.

"You know what I mean."

Sighing, Sherlock relayed the same information to Lestrade as he had Mycroft – Catherine had been in rehab, and was now in Italy with her current boyfriend, and Sherlock had been made aware that his daughter was in a children's care home. Lestrade listened in disbelief.

"Now," Sherlock said when he was finished. "Where's the body?"

* * *

><p>The suicide was a murder, and Sherlock managed to insult Anderson a grand total of five times – a record – and tend to Elspeth when she got a paper cut.<p>

The three of them were presently sitting in Lestrade's office, the two men watching Elspeth as she sat on the floor and scribbled all over the scrap paper Lestrade had given her to draw on.

"She's cute," Lestrade told Sherlock with a smile. "Really cute, which is weird considering she's yours." Sherlock glowered back at him. "But _Elspeth_?"

Sherlock looked affronted. "What's wrong with Elspeth?"

"I don't know, it's a bit . . . long, isn't it?" Lestrade frowned, leaning back in his seat. "I mean, imagine the poor kids at school trying to pronounce that."

"What do you suggest? A nickname?" Sherlock sneered.

"Yeah, why not? Not Beth," Lestrade added quickly. Beth wouldn't suit her. "What about . . . El . . . Elsie?" Sherlock's nose scrunched up, not bothering to hide his contempt. "El – El – Ellie! What about Ellie?"

Sherlock's discontent faded. Ellie wasn't _that_ bad, he supposed.

"Ellie," he called. Elspeth looked up immediately. "Don't worry, go back to your drawing."

Elspeth frowned back, obviously unimpressed and looking just like Sherlock did when Anderson said something stupid. Lestrade grinned.

"How old is she?"

"Four."

"Wow," Lestrade said, at a loss for words. He grinned from ear to ear. "Four. How are you liking fatherhood then?" He never would've thought of Sherlock as someone's father. The idea was so bizarre to him that he wanted to know everything.

"It's fine," Sherlock said with a small smile.

Elspeth scrambled to her feet, dashing across the room and tugging on Lestrade's sleeve.

"Yes?" he asked pleasantly. "What can I do for you?"

Grinning, Elspeth held up the piece of paper she'd been drawing on and Lestrade accepted it; she'd drawn a police car, the block of flats they'd been at and a stick figure with a lot of grey hair.

"That's you," she explained, pointing at the stick figure.

"Wow, this is amazing," Lestrade said, beaming down at her. "Can I keep it?"

Her thumb in her mouth, Elspeth nodded shyly and beamed back at him. She turned her wide grin towards Sherlock, whose lips twitched into a small smile in response, before scuttling back to him.

Lestrade watched in amazement as Sherlock pulled Elspeth onto his lap, holding her there like it was the most natural thing in the world. Elspeth turned and rested her head against Sherlock's chest, Sherlock automatically brushing her hair behind her ear.

"I'm tired," Elspeth complained.

"We'll go home soon," Sherlock promised. Elspeth buried her face in his shirt.

"Did you catch the bad guy today?" she asked, fidgeting on Sherlock's lap and swinging her legs until he told her to stop. "I told Jessica and Tommy about how you catch the bad people and put them in prison and they thought it was really cool." Elspeth turned to Lestrade. "Daddy's better than the police because he actually _finds_ them."

Lestrade knew that she parroting Sherlock, glaring at the detective across the desk. Sherlock smirked.

"You shouldn't tell her things like that," Lestrade grumbled. "It makes us look bad."

"She's four. No one believes her when she tells people that."

"No one believes me when I tell them you go to Scotland," Elspeth said to Sherlock, lifting her head. "Are we in Scotland now?"

"Scotland Yard," Sherlock corrected. "We're at Scotland Yard."

"So we're not in Scotland?" Elspeth asked suspiciously after a few seconds of staring up at Sherlock. He shook his head. "So why is it called _Scotland_ Yard? It's not even a yard!"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, giving Lestrade an expectant look. Elspeth copied him.

Taken aback for a second, Lestrade gawped at the pair of them, unable to get over how alike they looked.

"It's . . . uh, it's called Scotland Yard – uh," Lestrade stammered uncertainly. "It's called Scotland Yard because –" he let out a breath of relief when the office door opened and Sally Donovan stuck her head in, her eyes narrowing when she saw Sherlock sitting there with Elspeth on his lap. "Sally. Can I help you?"

"Why is he still here?"

"Unlike you, Donovan, I'm doing your job," Sherlock said without looking at her. His arms tightened around Elspeth.

"Whatever, Freak."

"Donovan," Lestrade snapped. It was only then Sally noticed the small girl on Sherlock's lap, her lips twisting into a frown. Elspeth gazed back at her with a strange expression, like there was something she couldn't quite work out about the older woman, and Sally felt a little uncomfortable. "Is this urgent, Donovan?" Lestrade asked, catching her attention.

"No," Sally said. "It can wait."

She closed the door behind her and Sherlock was unusually quiet, cradling Elspeth against his chest while she stared at the spot Sally had been standing in. Elspeth had got in trouble at school for calling Alex a stupid head and Sherlock told her that she wasn't allowed to call people names because it wasn't nice, so why had that woman called Sherlock a name? Freak wasn't very nice.

Elspeth shifted on Sherlock's lap, craning her neck back to look at him.

"Don't be sad," she said to him.

Sherlock forced himself to smile back, pushing Elspeth's hair behind her ear. "I'm not sad."

"Yes you are. It made me sad when Alex was mean to me and she was being mean to you so you're sad." Elspeth frowned. "Don't be sad. She's just a big meanie."

"Maybe you should take Ellie home," Lestrade suggested quietly. Sherlock nodded.

"Can you keep an eye on her for a minute?" Sherlock asked. "There's something I need to do." He didn't give Lestrade the chance to reply before he lifted Elspeth from his lap and put her down on the floor, striding out of the office.

Elspeth looked up at Lestrade. He stared back at her.

"Have you ever caught a criminal?"

"Loads," Lestrade said. Elspeth gawped at him and wandered round to his side of the desk, leaning on his chair as she stood on her tiptoes.

"How many?"

"So many I've lost count."

"Oh. Do you have any games on your computer?"

Elspeth was easy to entertain; Lestrade lifted her onto his lap and showed her how his computer worked, answering the questions she had about his job the best that he could. He drew the line at letting her answer the phone though.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Lestrade asked Elspeth. That was always a good question for small children.

"Dunno. Not a police officer. Police officers are _boring_." All they seemed to do was stand around in silly white suits that looked like toilet paper or sit in their offices. "I want to be . . . a . . ." Elspeth's voice trailed off thoughtfully and she leaned back against Lestrade's chest. "I want to be a detective like my Dad," she finally decided. "So I can work with you and the other police officers."

"Great," Lestrade said, the sarcasm lost on Elspeth. The last thing he needed was another Holmes lurking about.

"I want to be a detective because you don't have to take a test to be one. You have to take tests for lots of jobs and I don't like tests," Elspeth said, huffing. "We have tests at school. I don't like them."

Lestrade smiled, trying not to laugh at her melancholy attitude. "What's your favourite subject at school?"

"Art," Elspeth said straight away.

"Why don't you be an artist when you're older?" Lestrade suggested. "You can draw and paint all day, then."

Elspeth perked up at that, grinning. "Oh, that sounds like a good idea."

Laughing, Lestrade decided that he wouldn't mind if Sherlock brought Elspeth along to Scotland Yard again. She was a sweet girl, and he'd forgotten how amusing small children could be. She reminded him a lot of Sherlock.

"Do you like living with Sher – your dad?"

"Yeah, he's the best Dad ever." Elspeth paused for a second before adding, "Why is that lady mean to him?"

Lestrade sighed, wondering how he was going to explain this to her. "Sally and your dad don't like each other very much," he began carefully. "And sometimes when adults don't like each other, they aren't very nice, and they know they shouldn't do it but they do."

"Well that's just silly."

Sherlock strode into the office at that point, saving Lestrade from having to respond to Elspeth's declaration.

"Come on, Ellie, time to go home," Sherlock announced.

"Oh, but I'm having fun now," Elspeth complained. Sherlock gave her a stern look.

"You can come back any time you like," Lestrade promised her, cheering Elspeth up. "Thank you very much for my lovely drawing, I'll put it in a special place."

Elspeth said goodbye to Lestrade, hooking her arms around his neck and hugging him for a few seconds before sliding off his lap, darting across the room to take Sherlock's hand.

"Bye!" Elspeth called when she left the office, turning to wave at him. Lestrade waved back.

Sherlock Holmes – a father. Lestrade couldn't comprehend it properly, leaning back in his seat and shaking his head. If he hadn't seen Elspeth with his own eyes, Lestrade wouldn't have believed it.

* * *

><p>Thank you WerewolfHybrid31, Capricornwholovesbooks, bellechat, insert-calling-here, EICochrane, Adrillian1497, tardislover1, Dreamer558750 and The-Hogwarts-Phone-Box for reviewing!<p>

Sorry for the delay; I've had so so many deadlines, which sucks majorly. Hopefully the wait was worth it though!


	12. Chapter 12

_**12.**_

_And I'm almost there, I'm almost there. People down here think I'm crazy, but I don't care. Trials and tribulations, I've had my share. There ain't nothing gonna stop me now 'cause I'm almost there.  
>- Almost There, The Princess and The Frog.<em>

It was Mycroft who got Elspeth the bike.

The bike was small, the perfect size for Elspeth, and she had been ridiculously excited when Mycroft presented it to her, jumping and down while thanking him over and over. It had stabilisers to keep the bike steady and they were easily detachable, and Sherlock realised he had no other choice than to teach Elspeth how to ride a bike.

The thought made him sigh. Sherlock knew how to ride a bike – who didn't? – but having to teach Elspeth . . . Sherlock wasn't sure if he had the patience.

He was half tempted to drop Elspeth and the bike off at Mycroft's office and let his brother deal with it. "It's a special moment," his mother had insisted though. "Teaching your child to ride a bike – oh, I can still remember you and Mike learning!" That was when Sherlock had ended the call. He couldn't be bothered to listen to his mother's prattling, but he supposed she had a point. Sherlock didn't want to miss out on anything with Elspeth.

Elspeth was eating breakfast when Sherlock put a helmet down on the table in front of her, and she looked up with a dubious frown.

"What's that?"

"A helmet," Sherlock said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "It protects your head." Elspeth continued to frown and peer up at Sherlock, looking incredibly unimpressed; she appeared much older than her four years. Sherlock sighed. "Do you want to learn how to ride your bike or not?"

"Yeah!" Elspeth cried, her face lighting up.

"Finish your cereal," Sherlock told her. Elspeth huffed.

"But I want to ride my bike!"

"When you finish your cereal, you can ride your bike – outside," he added hastily. Sherlock didn't want another run in with his landlord, especially not when he'd already been in trouble a few times. "We'll go to the park."

Elspeth perked up at the mention of the park, shovelling her cereal into her mouth so most of it ended up on the front of her shirt and drinking her juice so fast she ended up with hiccups, which Sherlock had to endure for a few minutes until Elspeth finally got rid of them. He closed his eyes. He shouldn't have mentioned the park; it only got her excited.

"Go brush your teeth and get dressed," Sherlock said, lifting her from the stool and putting her on the ground. Elspeth scampered down the hall. "Put some trousers on," he called after her, envisaging a lot of injuries if Elspeth wore one of her dresses or skirts.

It didn't take long for Elspeth to get dressed. She picked the helmet up, pulling it onto her head, and Sherlock gently rapped his fingers on the top of it.

"We're riding bikes outside," he reminded her.

"I know," Elspeth grumbled. She fidgeted with the straps. "Do I have to wear this?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Sherlock pulled Elspeth onto his lap, helping her into her shoes. "Because it protects your head in case you have an accident."

"If I don't have an accident, can I take it off?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You might have an accident after you take it off," Sherlock said. "And if you bump your head hard enough, I'll have to take you to the hospital and you might not come home for a long time." Elspeth stared up at Sherlock, obviously torn between believing and doubting him, and he resisted the urge to laugh. It was cruel, really, to tease her like that but he couldn't resist. "So you have to keep this –" Sherlock gently tugged on one of the straps of her helmet. "– on at all times."

Elspeth nodded with a solemn expression, reaching up and pulling her helmet down even more so it pressed against her head.

The second she looked away, Sherlock smirked. She was so easy to wind up.

* * *

><p>The park was rather busy, as Sherlock expected, so he took Elspeth – she was pushing her bike along by the handlebars – to a relatively clear space and held the bike for her while she clambered on. Her legs flailed about for a seconds.<p>

"Put your feet on the pedals," Sherlock told her. Elspeth hesitated. She was nervous about taking her feet off the ground because if she did that, the bike was going to fall over. Biting her bottom lip, Elspeth looked up at Sherlock with an uncertain frown. "I'm holding onto the bike, see?" Sherlock put one hand in between the handlebars and the other on the back of her saddle. "It's not going to fall over."

Elspeth knew she could trust Sherlock, but it was still worrying.

Slowly, she raised one foot and put it against the pedal, crying out when it dipped down.

"That's normal," Sherlock assured her. "Don't put so much pressure on it this time."

Elspeth frowned. "What's pressure?"

It was Sherlock's turn to frown. "It's . . ." he struggled to find a way to explain it so Elspeth would understand. "It's when your foot is too heavy on the pedal. You have to put your foot on the pedal but _lightly_. That way it won't move."

She lifted her foot again, pressing it very lightly against the pedal while holding her breath; Elspeth let out a sigh of relief when the pedal stayed in place and grinned up at Sherlock.

"Like that?" she asked eagerly. He nodded.

"Do the same with your other foot." Seeing Elspeth's hesitance, Sherlock added, "I'm holding on, Ellie, don't worry. I won't let you fall."

Elspeth trusted Sherlock. She lifted her other foot, pressing it against the pedal like she'd done with the first, and grinned when the bike stayed completely still. It didn't even sway. Sherlock smiled back, holding on, and waited for Elspeth to adjust to being on the bike, watching her. It was strange when he considered the way her face lit up as she realised that he'd been telling the truth about not letting the bike fall; no one had ever trusted Sherlock the way Elspeth did.

He just hoped he never let her down.

"Do you want to start moving?" Sherlock asked Elspeth.

"Yeah," she answered straight away, grinning from ear to ear. She couldn't wait to get going.

"I'm going to keep hold of the bike. You need to push forwards on the pedals –" Elspeth did as Sherlock said and the bike started to crawl forwards. "Like this, that's good – no, don't speed up, Ellie – steer a little that way –"

"Hi Lestrade!" Elspeth shouted out suddenly, taking one hand off the handlebar and waving across the park so the bike veered to the side; Elspeth squealed, grabbing the handle again, and Sherlock struggled to keep the bike upright, almost tripping over his own feet in an attempt to steady it. They managed to avoid an accident but Sherlock gave Elspeth a stern look.

"Keep your hands on the handlebars."

Elspeth gave Sherlock a sheepish grin. "Sorry."

"Hey Ellie," Lestrade said with a good natured smile, strolling over. "What's that you got there?"

"Uncle Mycroft got me a bike!"

"Really? That was nice of him." Lestrade grimaced at Sherlock sympathetically. "Uncles, hey? What are you doing here? I would've thought you'd be off at Scotland Yard bothering everyone like you usually do."

"None of the cases were interesting enough," Sherlock sneered. He looked Lestrade up and down. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be working?"

Lestrade glowered back, straightening up. "I'm entitled to a day off here and there."

"So you spend it at the pub – watching the football, no doubt." Sherlock arched an eyebrow at Lestrade's incredulous expression. "I can smell the alcohol. Not on your breath," he added when Lestrade opened his mouth to protest. It was difficult to leave certain pubs in London not reeking of the stuff, even if one had only had a soft drink.

"Yeah, well, I was with friends," Lestrade said. Sherlock knew that was a lie. "What are you doing anyway?"

"I'm riding my bike!" Elspeth piped up. She'd listened to the entire conversation. She didn't understand most of it.

"She's learning to ride her bike," Sherlock corrected. "And if she doesn't keep her hands on the handlebars, she's going to have an accident." This was directed at Elspeth, accompanied with a narrow eyed glare, and Elspeth's cheeks turned pink as she grinned back. Lestrade tried not to laugh. He had been witness to the earlier scuffle.

"You're bound to fall off a couple of times when you're learning."

"That's why you have to wear a helmet," Elspeth said brightly. "Otherwise you'll have an accident and bump your head and end up staying in hospital for a very long time." Lestrade stared back at Elspeth and Sherlock closed his eyes. "That's what Dad says."

"What have you been teaching her?"

"It – it wasn't as bad as that sounds," Sherlock muttered.

Lestrade frowned back, unconvinced. "I've still got a couple of hours free if you fancy some company. You look like you could do with all the help you can get."

Sherlock hesitated, then nodded.

"Don't take your hands away," he said to Elspeth, crouching down to her level. "Don't move them. Don't even _think_ about moving them unless I tell you to, alright?" Elspeth nodded. "What are you not allowed to do?"

"Take my hands away."

Pleased with her answer, Sherlock straightened up and ignored the look Lestrade gave him. "We're going to do the same as before. Put your feet back on the pedals and push gently."

Sherlock kept both his hands on the bike so it was steady and crept along next to Elspeth, looking so ridiculous that Lestrade tried not to laugh at the younger man. It was sweet, really, when Lestrade thought about it, but there was something hilarious about watching a man as tall as Sherlock having to crouch over so he could hold his daughter's bike. Sherlock struggled to keep his strides short, not wanting to rush Elspeth, and glared at Lestrade over his shoulder when he laughed openly.

They cycled up and down in straight lines for a few minutes. Sherlock showed Elspeth how to steer the bike and what she needed to do if she wanted to stop or slow down, incredibly patient despite her endless questions.

"Can I go faster now?" Elspeth asked him, batting her eyelashes. She was getting bored of going so slow.

"Not too fast." Sherlock paused, then added, "I'm going to hold onto the back of the bike."

"Ok." Elspeth didn't mind that. She wasn't sure if she could do it on her own.

Elspeth rode the bike up and down in a line again, slightly faster than before, and Sherlock was true to his word as he held onto the saddle. He didn't struggle to keep up but Lestrade had to move out of the way more than once to avoid colliding with her. Elspeth didn't quite have the hang of steering yet.

"I think you can let go now," Elspeth told Sherlock, sounding so serious that Lestrade laughed.

"Are you sure?"

Elspeth nodded. "Not straight away though. Maybe after I've started pedalling."

Sherlock pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh at Elspeth's solemn attitude, and strode alongside her when she started to cycle. He kept his hand on the saddle for a minute, then slowly withdrew it, his fingers lingering before he let go completely.

"And she's off," Lestrade said with a smile, the pair of them watching Elspeth cycle further down the park. The bike veered and was kind of unsteady, but the stabilisers meant it didn't fall over. Straight away.

It happened very fast for Elspeth.

She was cycling without Sherlock and feeling particularly proud of herself for doing so, pedalling faster and faster, when the bike went over a bumpy bit of grass and became incredibly difficult to control all of a sudden; Elspeth clung onto the handlebars, remembering what Sherlock had told her, and tried to keep going but the bike fell and she fell with it. Elspeth scraped her knee on some stones and the bike fell on top of her, both of lying in a small messy heap on the floor.

"Oh my God, is she alright?" Lestrade asked Sherlock.

Sherlock's face was pale. "I don't know."

The two men ran over – Lestrade pulled the bike off Elspeth and Sherlock lifted Elspeth onto her feet, inspecting her. Other than her knee, which was bleeding, she wasn't hurt.

"I fell off," Elspeth said, sounding more miserable than in pain.

"Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you?"

"My knee hurts," she complained, sticking her leg out for Sherlock to see. He was just relieved that she hadn't seriously hurt herself. "But I didn't bump my head! Can I go again?"

Sherlock hesitated. "If you want to," he said warily.

Lestrade held the bike for her and Elspeth clambered on before cycling away again, going just as fast as before; it was as if she had never fallen off. Sherlock glanced over at Lestrade, wondering if that was normal behaviour. Usually when Elspeth hurt herself, she threw a fit. Screamed, cried, moaned until Sherlock picked her up and hugged her, or made a fuss over her. She was acting as if nothing had happened.

"Hey, you should be glad she got back on," Lestrade told him. "Seriously, it's the best thing she could do."

"How?"

"Well, if she doesn't get straight back on after an accident, she won't get back on at all. She'll be too scared to." Lestrade gave Sherlock a sideways glance. "Do you get what I mean?"

Sherlock nodded. That made sense.

A few minutes later, Elspeth fell off the bike again. She climbed to her feet, huffing like it was an annoyance rather than an accident, brushed herself down, and got back on the bike. Though relieved that she was doing that, Sherlock couldn't help wonder if that meant that Elspeth was growing more independent. Being independent meant that she didn't need him.

Sherlock had only got used to being needed. He'd always had himself to look after and that was all that mattered, but now he had Elspeth and everything changed. Every decision he made was based around her and her needs, and if she'd grown up already, Sherlock felt as if he'd done something wrong.

She was too young to not need him. That was what he kept telling himself.

Sherlock felt the undeniable dread, however, when he thought about Elspeth becoming a teenager. He remembered what it was like at that age.

"She's doing well," Lestrade said. He winced when Elspeth fell off again. "All things considered."

"It would be better if she'd stop falling off," Sherlock said dryly. Even he couldn't deny that he was proud though.

"She's a kid. They always fall off." Lestrade grimaced; Elspeth had fallen off her bike for the third – or was it fourth? – time. "I think Ellie is breaking a world record though," he joked, grinning at Sherlock. The detective smiled back but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You alright? You look a bit broody."

Sherlock frowned and gave Lestrade a sideways glance. "I don't _brood_."

"Yeah, you do. You put your collar up and brood like some sort of bird of prey. It's weird."

"Remind me why I help you again?"

"You don't help me," Lestrade retorted. "You turn up at crime scenes uninvited, invade the whole of Scotland Yard's privacy, help yourself to private and confidential files - between the sarcasm, condescension and insults, it's amazing you get any work done at all."

"I always catch the right person though," Sherlock pointed out with a smirk. Lestrade glared back.

"We shouldn't even let you _near_ half the stuff we do, let alone give you full access to it."

"I am far more of a help than a hindrance."

"I never said that."

"You didn't need to," Sherlock gloated. Lestrade rolled his eyes. He wasn't sure why he put up with Sherlock sometimes.

A second later, both Lestrade and Sherlock were hurriedly stepping to the side as Elspeth barrelled towards them, ringing the bell frantically. She wasn't that good at braking either.

* * *

><p>"Did you have fun today?" Sherlock asked Elspeth, the pair walking home. Elspeth nodded.<p>

"It was lots and lots of fun," she said. "But my knee is really sore now."

Elspeth had fallen over a grand total of six times, and each time she just got back up and carried on cycling, determined to get the hang of it. Sherlock smiled down at her.

"You can have a bath and sit down when we get home," he promised. "And we'll put a plaster on your knee if that helps." Sherlock didn't see the benefit of plasters but he'd brought special ones for Elspeth anyway. They were brightly coloured and flowery, designed specifically for small children around her age.

Elspeth nodded again, pleased with the idea, and carried on pushing her bike down the street.

"Can you ride a bike?" she asked Sherlock.

"Yes."

"Do you have a bike?"

"Not anymore, no."

"Why?"

Sherlock frowned. Why didn't he have a bike anymore? "It wasn't convenient," he finally said. "There isn't enough room at home for _two_ bikes, and taxis are much faster."

"But I can go really fast on my bike!"

"Yes, and that's why you kept falling off," Sherlock pointed out, making Elspeth laugh. "Maybe I'll get one for my next birthday –" that was a lie. "– so you can remind me how to ride it." That made Elspeth laugh even harder because the idea of having to teach Sherlock how to ride a bike was so ridiculous. Sherlock smiled at her.

When they got home, Sherlock put the bike away and ran Elspeth a warm bath. He was careful when he washed her knee, which was stained with dirt and dry blood, and though Elspeth flinched, she didn't complain.

"Did you find riding your bike hard?" Sherlock asked casually. Elspeth splashed him. "Hey!" he stuck his hand in the water and flicked it back at her. "Well? Did you?"

"No, it was easy," Elspeth lied. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her. "It was a little hard. I don't like falling off."

"No one does," Sherlock said. "But you got back on, and that's really good." He was just repeating Lestrade's words but he meant it. "You should always get back on the bike, even if you've hurt yourself or you're afraid, because if you don't, you'll get too scared to do it again. And you don't want that, do you?"

Elspeth shook her head. "It's not good to be afraid."

"No, it isn't," Sherlock agreed. He gently stroked her wet hair. "I'm very proud of you, Ellie. You did well today."

"Can we go bike riding again tomorrow?"

Sherlock grimaced. "We'll see."

* * *

><p>Thank you LoverofWords22, WerewolfHybrid31, insert-calling-here, aorangeinboston, Eternal Cat Moon, Deductions-of-Sherlolly, Dreamer558750, The-Hogwarts-Phone-Box, Adrillian1497, bellechat and tardislover1 for reviewing!<p> 


	13. Chapter 13

_**13.**_

_My fingers are wrinkly, and I really don't care if all my curls have curled out of my hair.  
>- For A Moment, The Little Mermaid 2: Return to the Sea <em>

"I don't want to go to school," Elspeth moaned. "I'm ill."

Sherlock frowned. "You don't look ill."

"I _feel_ ill. I feel so sick and I can't go," she insisted, her bottom lip trembling for effect. Sherlock frowned and felt Elspeth's forehead; she didn't have a temperature. He checked the back of her neck – just to be sure – and brushed her hair out of her face, looking her in the eyes. There wasn't anything wrong with her. "I can't go to school. I'm too ill."

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked. "You don't look ill or feel warm – do you really feel ill?"

"I feel _awful_," Elspeth whined. She scrambled into Sherlock's lap, nestling her face into his chest and clutching the front of his shirt. "I don't want to go in."

Sherlock scoffed; he didn't fall for it. "You're fine, Ellie. You and I both know that," he said, lifting her off his lap and planting her firmly back on the floor. She glowered up at him. "Go get your bag. We have to leave in a minute."

Elspeth grumbled under her breath, turning and storming from the room. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Sometimes Elspeth pretended she was ill to get out of things. Sherlock couldn't blame her really; school wasn't a particularly stimulating environment, in his opinion. Still, he couldn't keep her off for no good reason – especially not when she was pretending to be unwell. He turned and opened the fridge, taking Elspeth's packed lunch out. Without it, she would forget to eat and that would render her in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

"Come on, Ellie, hurry up," Sherlock called down the corridor.

"I'm coming," she shouted back, trudging back into the kitchen. She dragged her bag along behind her.

"Carry your bag properly," Sherlock scolded. He took it from her. "Coat and shoes."

While Elspeth collected her coat and shoes from by the front door, Sherlock lifted her bag onto the counter, opening it. He had to make sure that she'd packed everything; books, pencil case . . . and a crumpled up bit of paper stuffed into the corner. Sherlock took it out and unfolded it.

It was a form of some kind. His eyes skimming it, Sherlock focused on two words: _swimming lessons._

Realisation dawned on him. It was a permission slip for the school to take the class to swimming lessons, and the date suggested it had been in the bottom of Elspeth's bag for a long time. He glanced over at his daughter, who was struggling to pull her shoes on by herself, and wondered why she'd hidden the form from him.

"I need help," Elspeth told him, still trying to pull her shoes on. Sherlock put the form down.

"Come here." Sherlock knelt down to help Elspeth into her shoes, tying them for her, and then held her coat out for her to slide her arms into. "So," Sherlock said. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

Elspeth stared at him. ". . . No?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Are you certain?"

". . . Yes?"

He zipped up her coat and stood up, retrieving the form from the counter. "What's this, then?"

Elspeth's eyes flickered between the form and Sherlock, her cheeks steadily turning red as she realised what it was. She'd hidden it in her bag because she hoped that Sherlock wouldn't find it. She bit her lip.

"You weren't supposed to find that," Elspeth mumbled sheepishly. "Do I have to go?"

"Well," Sherlock said, frowning. "You _can't_ considering I haven't signed the form." He sighed. "Why did you hide this from me, Ellie?" Elspeth didn't respond, pursing her lips together and looking at her feet, and Sherlock cupped her chin, lifting her head. "Elspeth Holmes, don't look down at the floor. Why did you hide this from me?"

"Because," Elspeth mumbled miserably. "I don't want to go."

"Why?"

"I can't swim."

Sherlock paused, looking down at the form. "The point of lessons are to learn," he reminded her. Elspeth scowled. "Why don't you want to have lessons?"

She shrugged. "I don't like swimming."

He suspected there was more to it than Elspeth was letting on, but Sherlock knew they didn't have time to discuss it. Standing up, he took his daughter by the hand and led her to the front door. They were going to have to talk about it later.

* * *

><p>"Swimming lessons?" Lestrade repeated.<p>

"Mmm," Sherlock said under his breath. "She hid the form in the bottom of her bag." Lestrade laughed and Sherlock shot his a sideways glance, scowling. "It isn't funny. Who knows what else she could be hiding from me?"

"Sherlock, it's nearly _impossible_ to hide something from you. I'm just impressed she kept it a secret for so long."

Sherlock didn't see it that way. "Are all children so averse to learning to swim?"

Lestrade shrugged. "I honestly don't know. Look, maybe she's just afraid because it's something new. Kids get like that sometimes." He didn't add that most of the children he knew were eager to learn how to swim; Lestrade didn't want to cause any more concern for Sherlock. "Have you tried talking to her?"

"We had a brief conversation this morning." Sherlock had one with her teacher as well, awkwardly explaining that he didn't know about the form until that morning. She'd been very understanding. "I'm going to have to talk to her again tonight."

"Maybe she's worried about doing it with her class," Lestrade suggested. "You could take her."

"Me?" Sherlock demanded incredulously.

"Yeah. You can swim, can't you?"

"Of course." Sherlock grimaced at the memories of cold water and chlorine and his father shouting from the other end of the pool words of encouragement while Mycroft sat on the side, smirking in that smug manner of his. "Why me? Shouldn't I just leave it to the professionals?"

"You taught her to ride a bike," Lestrade pointed out.

"That was different."

"How?"

Sherlock was silent for a few seconds. "Because," he finally sneered. "That hardly requires teaching – Ellie picked it up quickly."

"Right. Remind me how many times she fell off?" Lestrade said. Sherlock glared at him. "Face it, Sherlock, if she won't go to swimming lessons with her class, you're going to have to teach her. You don't want her to be stuck with a fear of water for the rest of her life, do you?"

"That won't happen," Sherlock scoffed.

"How do you know?"

Sherlock stared at Lestrade for a long time, then turned and strode away. Lestrade couldn't help but smirk to himself; for an intelligent man, Sherlock was easy to wind up.

* * *

><p>The week passed and Sherlock and Elspeth hadn't spoken about her refusal to have swimming lessons – mainly because every time Sherlock brought the subject up, she clamped up and refused to say anything. Lestrade's words were on his mind; Sherlock didn't want Elspeth to develop an irrational fear of water, which he supposed was possible no matter how much he doubted it. He decided to take matters into his own hands and follow Lestrade's advice. If Elspeth wasn't going to learn with her class, then Sherlock was going to teach her.<p>

How hard could it be?

Getting Elspeth to the swimming pool was easy. Sherlock packed her costume and goggles the night before, hiding the bag so she wouldn't know what he was up to, and in the morning he tied her hair back like he did sometimes. She didn't question it.

It wasn't until they got into the back of the cab that Elspeth started to suspect her father. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"It's a surprise," Sherlock said, buckling her seatbelt. He'd already told the driver where they were going. Elspeth's face lit up with excitement and she wriggled in her seat, her legs swinging. Sherlock hoped that she remained that excited when she saw the swimming pool, but he highly doubted it. Tricking Elspeth really wasn't ethical considering her age, but Sherlock knew there was no other way around it.

Plus, he was an adult. It was his job and privilege to trick his daughter on occasion – wasn't it?

Sherlock tried not to put too much thought into it, sliding into the seat next to Elspeth and putting the bag on his other side where she wouldn't see it. She didn't notice. She was too excited.

"Are we going to the zoo?"

Sherlock frowned. "No."

Elspeth's face dropped. "Oh. I really wanted to go to the zoo."

"We can go next weekend," Sherlock promised. It was the least he could do after this. The taxi stopped and Elspeth craned her neck to look out of the window, her mouth falling open when she realised where they were. Sherlock reached out to gently stroke her hair. "Well?"

"I don't like this surprise," Elspeth grumbled.

Sherlock took Elspeth by the hand, leading her inside. He paid for their entry, acquired a locker for their belongings, and helped Elspeth into her swimming costume with some difficulty; she was as stiff as a board, refusing to cooperate. She had a face like thunder and her skinny arms were folded across her chest when Sherlock finally managed to get her by the poolside.

"Come on," Sherlock coaxed, sliding into the pool. They were in the shallow end and Sherlock was so tall that the water barely reached his hips, and he hoped that help encourage Elspeth to get into the water. She didn't budge. "It's lovely and warm in here, Ellie." Sherlock flicked a bit of water in Elspeth's direction. She glared at him. "You're not going to make me stay in here on my own, are you? I look a bit silly."

Elspeth's tough exterior faded slightly then. "You look really silly," she told Sherlock. "But I'm not swimming."

"Are you sure? It's really fun."

Sherlock wasn't sure if standing in the water and wading about counted as swimming, but the pool was too shallow for him to do otherwise. He received a few sympathetic looks from other parents.

"I don't want to."

"It's just like having a bath," Sherlock said, clutching at straws. Elspeth frowned. "Put your feet in. Like this." He pulled himself out, sat on the side, and dipped his feet into the pool. Elspeth hesitated before copying him, sitting next to Sherlock and carefully placing her feet into the water.

"It's warm," she said.

"Told you so."

Elspeth moved her feet, kicking them back and forth. She was still reluctant to get in.

As if sensing her fear, Sherlock slid back into the pool and stood in front of her with his arms outstretched.

"Jump in. I'll catch you," he promised her. Elspeth shook her head. "It's alright, Ellie, I'll be right here. It's like when you were riding your bike." Sherlock watched Elspeth, her eyes flickering up to his with consideration; she'd been frightened about that as well. "I'm not going to let you fall in, I promise."

Elspeth shuffled forwards. "You have to catch me."

Sherlock nodded. "Of course I will."

Taking in a deep breath, Elspeth took another step so she was on the edge of the pool. Sherlock wasn't far away from her.

Elspeth made a small leap forwards and Sherlock caught her before she hit the water, sweeping her into her arms and up into the air. Elspeth squealed with laughter.

"Again!" she cried. "I wanna do that again!"

Sherlock obliged, putting Elspeth on the side of the pool and catching her when she jumped back into his arms. He did it one more time for her, then held her close while she adjusted to being in the water; Elspeth's legs flailed around, not used to not having something to stand up. She wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck.

"Have you ever swam before?" Sherlock asked. Elspeth shook her head and clung to him. "It's easy." His hands loosened and Elspeth's grip tightened, pressing herself to him when she thought he was letting go of her completely. "You have to let go for me to teach you, Ellie," he reminded her.

"But you're going to let go of me," she whimpered.

"No I'm not. I'll be right here."

Elspeth clung to Sherlock for a few seconds longer, then slowly released his neck from the chokehold she'd been hanging on to him with. "I don't want to sink," she told him fearfully.

"I won't let you sink. If you keep moving, you'll stop yourself from sinking." Sherlock adjusted his grip on Elspeth. "You're going to need to lie down on your stomach – like you do when you go to bed," he added as an explanation, noticing the terrified look Elspeth shot him. "I won't let go." He helped Elspeth stretch out horizontally, a hand cupping her chin. "Keep your head up. You don't want water in your face."

"What happens if I fall asleep?" Elspeth asked, giggling. Sherlock smiled down at her.

"I'll wake you up. Now, kick your legs a little bit – like that . . . a bit more, you don't want to sink, remember?" Elspeth did as Sherlock said and he held on to her, flinching away when she kicked the water so enthusiastically that she splashed him. "Move your –" Sherlock blinked as Elspeth splashed yet more water in his face. "Arms."

"Like this?" Elspeth waved her arms wildly, splashing water in all directions, and Sherlock had a hard time keeping hold of her.

"Like that," he said, grimacing.

Her technique was sloppy and messy, but somehow Elspeth managed to get the hang of swimming, even without Sherlock holding onto her.

Feeling someone jump on him from behind, Sherlock craned his neck back and looked at Elspeth. "Hello."

"Piggy back!" Elspeth cried.

Sherlock smirked and hoisted Elspeth further up his back; she held onto him while he swam back and forth, deliberately ducking closer to the water to make her squeal. He spun her around a few times, dunking her into the water and lifting her in the air, and Elspeth laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. Sherlock kissed her wet forehead.

"Do you like swimming now?" he asked her.

"I like it lots and lots and lots!" Elspeth splashed the water at Sherlock, giggling when he scowled. "Can you sign my form when we get home?"

Sherlock grinned. "Of course."

Elspeth grinned back. "Ok. I want to jump in again!"

She swam away and scrambled out of the pool, jumping straight back in; Sherlock barely had enough time to catch her, stumbling backwards so the pair almost fell beneath the water. Elspeth laughed a lot, wrapping her arms around Sherlock's neck, and he pinched the bridge of his nose for a second, wishing he'd never suggested swimming; it was only going to be another thing that Elspeth wanted to do every weekend.

* * *

><p>"Well? How was it?"<p>

"Fine," Sherlock muttered distractedly, flicking through the file he'd taken from Lestrade's desk. "Check the mother's jewellery box – if the bracelets are still in there, arrest her."

"Right." Lestrade scribbled a note. "I'll have that back, thank you," he added, taking the file from Sherlock, who frowned back at him. He didn't understand why Lestrade got so touchy about him reading the files. "Isn't it about time you went and picked Ellie up?"

Sherlock glanced over at the clock. "Remember to –"

"Check the jewellery box, yeah, I know. Go get your kid."

It didn't take long for Sherlock to get to the school, a few minutes later than most of the parents, but he was at the gate when Elspeth rushed out, her damp hair scraped into a ponytail. She scanned the crowd for a second, spotted Sherlock and, beaming from ear to ear, darted forwards; Elspeth jumped into his waiting arms and he swept her up, holding her against his hip.

"Did you go to your swimming lesson?" he asked even though he already knew the answer. The stench of chlorine clung to her.

"No," Elspeth said, giggling.

"Liar." Sherlock tweaked Elspeth's nose and she laughed, pulling away. "Did you have fun?"

"Yeah, it was great!" Elspeth replied enthusiastically, taking Sherlock's hand when he put her back on the ground, her bag bumping against her shoulders. "They didn't let us jump in the pool because there was no one there to catch us." She sighed and Sherlock smiled down at her. "It was still fun though."

"As long as you had fun, it's alright."

Elspeth nodded. "The lifeguard said I was really good!"

"Really?"

"Uh huh. He said that I was really good not to splash the others because that's what they were doing and it meant we couldn't swim while the teacher told us off." Elspeth glanced up at Sherlock, noticing the dubious look he gave her when she told she hadn't splashed anyone. "I splashed Tommy a little," she admitted. "But only because he did it first!"

"You shouldn't do it in your lessons," Sherlock told her. "It distracts people."

"Can I do it when we go swimming at weekends?" Elspeth asked. Sherlock wanted to say no but he just nodded, supressing a suffering sigh. The things he had to endure just because he was a parent. "Can uncle Mycroft come swimming with us sometime?"

The thought of Mycroft in swimming trunks made Sherlock smirk. "Why don't you ask him tomorrow?" he suggested. "He's taking you out for lunch, remember?"

"Oh yeah!" Elspeth's face lit up with excitement. "Ok, I'll ask him."

The next day, Sherlock received several angry – _furious_ – voicemails from his brother. "I will not be joining you at the swimming pool this weekend, nor will I on _any _weekend, so I will thank you _not_ to put the thought into Elspeth's head. She's been telling everyone who will listen that I'm taking her swimming – I'm now the laughing stock of the office," Mycroft's voice hissed at him when he stepped aside to finally listen to them, and Sherlock was trying hard not to laugh at the anguish in his brother's voice. "Take your daughter on outings if you please, but do not include me."

"What's put you in such a good mood?" Lestrade asked, sounding almost wary when Sherlock returned to the crime scene. Sherlock smiled back.

"Oh, nothing."

* * *

><p>Thank you Capricornwholovesbooks, WerewolfHybrid31, Adrillian1497, Eternal Cat Moon, Deductions-of-Sherlolly, bellechat, Leila, The-Hogwarts-Phone-Box and Diving in for reviewing!<p>

Ellie isn't the same as Ellie we first meet in The Family Business - think back to when you were young, four/five maybe. I know for sure that I'm not the same person now as I was back then, and that's the case with Ellie. She's young and naïve and changing, and she's slowly developing into the teenage version you know, but it's going to take time. That's one of the main reasons I started this! So please give it time!


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